


The Magicweaver

by bleubirdsong



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Orphanage, Alternate Universe - World War II, Blindness, Mage Sight, Magic, War, Work In Progress, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 19:26:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 106,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3261596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleubirdsong/pseuds/bleubirdsong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only survivor of a gruesome attack, Harry winds up in an orphanage where he meets a fellow wizard named Tom. They become best friends, investigating their magic together in a hostile world. Magic is the light of Harry's life, literally. They grow up together, facing adversities and hiding from the one who set everything into motion in the first place. Grindelwald's era.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Temporary Darkness

Chapter 1

October 31, 1932

The first thing that Harry remembered when he woke up was pain. A horrible, searing pain that burned his nerves into flayed strands. The next thing that Harry remembered was the darkness that followed the blinding green light. He screamed, he tried to blink, but everything was dark and no matter how hard he tried to see there was simply nothing there. He must have passed out from the pain, he knew, but he wasn't sure. The darkness never left. The last thing he was sure that he remembered was a soft, cruel laugh.

November 1, 1932

The darkness persisted. Sometimes he thought that he heard voices, but he wasn't sure. His eyes itched, but he found himself unable to move. When he struggled, he was instantly restrained, and sometimes he felt something tingly rush over him and then he would know no more. He stopped trying to move, but the tears didn't stop. He didn't like the tears. They made his eyes sting and the voices he thought he heard would get panicked. However, eventually his eyes would cool. Sometimes they started hurting again. When that happened, he would whimper, and someone would pour something cold into his mouth. The pain stopped then. He must have been in a hospital.

November 3, 1932

Harry was ridiculously bored. Nobody even tried to talk to him. He finally was able to distinguish the words he occasionally heard, but when he tried to say something, he was shushed, and the voices would leave. Once, he tentatively asked one of the nicer, female voices why it was so dark.

The voice told him that there had been an accident. Somehow, he didn't believe the voice.

November 7, 1932

"Does he know what happened?"

"I don't think so. Mandy told him there was an accident, but nobody has said anything else yet."

"Good. We need to find out what happened to him and his parents, if he can remember it."

"Maybe I can ask Professor Dumbledore to stop by. His eyes are perfectly healed now, even though he can't see. Perhaps he'd be able to look into them and do his mind-reading thing."

"If only that was so easy. I'll get started."

The last voice drew nearer. It sounded stern and rather harsh, which scared Harry a little bit. He much liked the other voice better; it sounded rather sympathetic. Harry struggled to sit up, swaying a little bit from vertigo.

"Why hello there, young man," the stern voice said. "I'd like you to answer some of my questions."

Harry nodded, wringing his hands. "Okay," he said weakly.

"Do you remember what happened a week ago?" the stern voice said. "I'm doing an investigation right now to see if I can figure out what happened to your parents and anything you might be able to tell me would be helpful."

Harry froze. Maybe this voice would know. "Where are my parents?" Harry asked, cringing slightly. Please let it be a good answer, he chanted inside his head. Please tell me that they are okay. The nice voice from before hitched a breath. Oh no, that wasn't good, Harry thought. Please.

"I'm sorry to inform you about this, but your parents were in some sort of magical accident. We are trying to ascertain - that means find out - what happened. Was anyone else there?"

Harry sat numbly, mind processing. It wasn't an accident. That much he was certain of. "There was someone else there. He didn't like my parents. He laughed very scary," Harry whispered.

The stern voice sounded a little bit eager. "Do you remember what he looked like?"

"No," Harry said, a little upset. "I don't remember seeing anything after that green spell."

There was a little silence.

"Green spell?"

"The man wasn't very nice. He laughed at my mum and my dad. And," Harry said, breathing in slowly, "then he pointed his wand at me and said something funny. And then there was a green spell and then my face hurt."

Harry looked up in the direction he thought the man was. "Why can't I see?"

The stern voice was a silent.

Harry didn't answer any more questions.

November 10, 1932

When Harry woke up that morning, he could feel that something was different. It seemed like his whole body was just itching somehow, for some reason. He scratched at his arms a little bit, but it didn't do anything. In fact, he thought it was maybe his magic itching. That was strange. He didn't believe that magic could itch, out of all things. But it was the only thing that was present in his whole body that he could imagine itching. If magic could cause itching, then surely it itself was capable of itching?

His favorite nurse, Mandy, walked in just then. Her footsteps were always very soft, and she always wore something that clanked and jingled a bit as she walked. Harry thought it must be jewellery of some kind. He remembered his mom having some.

"Hello, Harry!" she called cheerfully. Harry looked in her direction, and then froze. He couldn't believe his eyes. His eyes, the traitorous eyes that always showed him endless darkness even though he heard people say that they were healed perfectly...were showing him something. But it wasn't anything that he had ever seen before. Right where Mandy should be, Harry saw something golden and swirly. It reminded him of happy days on his training broom with his father. It looked as if Mandy was made up of this golden and swirly light. It was very faint, but Harry could see her! Harry was very excited for a moment. Maybe his vision was coming back! But it wasn't showing him anything he was used to seeing.

Harry decided to wait a little bit and investigate before telling anyone.

"Hello, Mandy," Harry said, waving at the golden figure.

"Are you hungry?" asked Mandy. "I brought you breakfast. And one cheese bun that I managed to steal from the kitchens!"

Harry was hungry indeed. "Yeah, I'm hungry," he said. The golden figure lifted a hand and Harry saw the most peculiar thing happen. The glowing stick that he saw in the golden figure's hand must be Mandy's wand. And the funniest thing happened! The golden swirls began to stream to the hand holding the wand, and the golden swirls began to spread to something right above Mandy's other hand. The golden figure dimmed! As the golden swirls settled, Harry was shocked to realize that it looked like a platter of food, with a distinct shape that looked like a teapot and a shape that could only be a bowl. And the golden swirls, on the platter and below it and above it and absolutely everywhere, carried the platter right into his lap. Then, the golden swirls streamed back to the golden figure and merged with it, making it brighter once again.

Harry understood what he was seeing. He must be seeing magic.

He'd never heard of seeing magic before, though. His parents taught him a little bit about the wizarding world, but even though there were many things that he was told he would learn later, he was sure he would have heard of someone being able to see magic. For some reason, Harry suddenly got the strong feeling that he should keep this strange development a secret.

"Thank you," he said, feeling for the platter. He couldn't see it anymore since the golden swirls left, but he could remember the approximate locations of all of the items he could distinguish.

"Do you need any help? I know you want to be all grown up and eat by yourself, but if you need help eating, it's perfectly fine to ask, especially as you can't see," Mandy said, voice tinged with sadness.

"No thank you," Harry said, slightly irritated. He was in a magical hospital. He'd heard of people's limbs being reattached. For some reason, though, they couldn't fix his eyes. He knew he was being silly and was acting his age, but he allowed it to himself. He was only five, surely he wouldn't get in trouble for being a little grumpy. His parents...his parents always understood.

Harry swallowed heavily, shakily pouring some tea into the teacup he had just located. He paused several times, feeling with his finger how much tea was in the teacup. The first time he tried to pour his tea, he forgot to check, and ended up pouring tea all over himself. It was rather painful.

"Alright," Mandy said sadly, and he heard her footsteps drawing away.

November 11, 1932

When Harry woke up the next day, he bit back a scream. When he opened his eyes, it was like being assaulted by a vortex of colors and light so bright that it reminded him of the green light that he remembered. He closed his eyes, whimpering. His eyelids didn't dim everything very much, but it wasn't painful. He whipped his head from side to side, hands grasping his covers in a deathly grip. He saw funny shapes all over the wall, looking a lot like the runes his mum used to play around with. He saw a veritable rainbow of colors, of magic, all over everything. His new vision must have obviously developed overnight.

Harry still didn't want to tell anyone. But if he was going to keep it a secret, he couldn't stay here. If it got stronger again, like it did after only one night, then he absolutely could not stay here. It wasn't as if anything was happening, anyway. Occasionally healers would walk in and cast spells on him, and he would hear them discussing his eyes, the curse, the accident that...killed his parents that obviously wasn't an accident, and his future. But there wasn't any more healing to be done, he was sure. He'd heard some healers mention it repeatedly.

But there was the question of his future. Some people mentioned finding some random magical family to adopt him. But Harry didn't want to be adopted. He thought he would do fine without parents, thank you very much. His parents were very nice, but they weren't around anymore. He didn't want replacements. In fact...he didn't have a family anymore. He was just Harry, alone in the world. Even though that thought made Harry feel somewhat sad, he thought he preferred that thought to being placed with some random family and forced to have different parents.

So, Harry decided that he was going to run away.

It was going to have to be a very delicate procedure, and it had to happen today. Tomorrow, his vision might get worse. Tomorrow, other people might find out about his talent. The talent that he was so strongly sure must be kept secret from everyone. So Harry began to plan. They'd taken off his restraints days ago, and he was sure his room wasn't watched as much as it used to be before. He was sure he would be able to make it out of the hospital. He'd just have to avoid all the people, and hopefully being able to see the magic over everything would help him figure out where to go.

Harry waited until after receiving breakfast to make his move. He sat up and bunched his sheets in the center of the bed. He wasn't sure how his attempt at subterfuge would work, but hopefully, if the lump looked anything like it used to when he used this technique to fool his parents into believing that he was sleeping, it would pass someone's quick glance at his room.

Harry crept toward the door, squinting to keep the magic from hurting him. He carefully opened the door, and peeked out into the hallway. He saw some human-shaped magical auras on the left, but then they turned the corner. On the right, he saw an indentation in the wall. It looked rather like a window. Harry walked in a casual manner over to it, trying to look like he was allowed to be out in the corridor. After a few checks, Harry stood on his toes and ran his hands over the window. He found a latch and quietly opened the window. He peeked his head out and looked down. To his dismay, the magic on the wall of the hospital seemed to extend down very far. Harry thought he had heard someone mention that this was the fourth floor. Oh no. He should've remembered it.

What to do? Harry continued looking. Maybe he could utilize accidental magic to his advantage? Harry knew accidental magic was supposed to be accidental, as the name implied, but maybe he could try jumping out of the window, and with luck, he wouldn't get hurt.

Harry weighed his choices. Get stuck here and suffer burning vision and telling people about his new vision? Or risk dying from a fall?

Of course he was going to choose the fall.

He took a deep breath and clambered onto the ledge, slowly inching through the window. He glanced back, and the hallway remained oddly clear. Harry thought himself amazingly lucky that nobody had walked by yet. His part of the hospital must be fairly empty.

He shivered a bit as he looked down. Harry had forgotten that it was nearing wintertime, and that his plain and thin hospital clothes would be grossly insufficient. But it was too late to back out now. Harry took another deep breath before flinging himself off the ledge.

For one beautiful moment, Harry was flying by a mosaic of colors and swirls and other patterns. Then, Harry saw green. A dark, deep green that reminded him of the forests behind his old house, with scattered flashes of gold and dark, bluish shadows. It materialized from nowhere, and suddenly Harry wasn't falling rapidly. He slowly drifted to the ground, feet touching down on icy pavement littered with something sharp. He thought he cut his foot, but he wasn't sure. Harry stared at the pretty, multicoloured green, mesmerized. He steadied himself, and then watched with shocked eyes as the green condensed and seeped back into his skin.

He knew he had magic, but he had never seen anything underneath his skin like he had seen on other people. He never questioned not seeing it. But now that he had seen it in action, he thought he could see a green glitter where his arms were. For some reason, it was harder to see his own magic when it was inside his body than it was to see the magic of other people.

How odd. He was constantly learning new things about his magical vision.

As he contemplated this, he realized that he had to move. People would be searching from him soon, and it would be so totally lame to be caught right outside the hospital!

Harry carefully stepped away from the beautiful wall of the hospital, trying not to cut his feet on the ground again. As he reached another wall without magic, Harry realized a flaw in his plan. He could see pretty well when surrounded by magic like he was in the hospital. But now, as he neared Muggle territory, he was becoming truly blind. Even though he'd only had his magical vision for two days, he'd already grown reliant on it.

Harry would have to make do. He wasn't going to cry, of course not.

He kept his hand on the wall as he cautiously shuffled forward, ears pricked for any sounds. Ahead of him, he could hear whispers of conversation, and the sound of automobiles. He must be in a city.

Suddenly, the wall ran out. Harry continued dragging his hand around the corner of it, and walked along the wall away from the hospital. People were shuffling by him, loud and rather violent. Someone pushed him into the wall as they muscled their way onward. But overall, he was simply ignored.

Harry continued on until suddenly, the wall ran out. He heard cars ahead and realized that there must be a road there. But he didn't know how he was going to cross it, with so many cars there! With a sudden bit of inspiration, he began trailing after a man and his companion, who were having a relaxed conversation. Listening carefully, Harry stopped when they stopped, and walked when they walked. He had to stick very close to them, as the crowds were remarkably thick, but he was doing fine. Harry allowed himself to feel happy. He stumbled occasionally on the uneven ground, but with every step, Harry knew he was getting further from the hospital.

Harry navigated the strange city for a few hours, choosing random people to shadow. Finally, freezing, with feet sore and bleeding, Harry stopped as the woman he was following passed through a park. The cold grass felt absolutely lovely on his worn feet, so he inched forward until he ran into a tree. There, he laid himself down among the roots, and decided to take a nap.

-break-

There was something poking him. Harry shivered violently and curled himself tighter. He was poked again, and rather painfully. Harry yelped, and sat up, rubbing at his eyes.

"Hello, boy. Where are your parents?" a male voice asked.

"Who's asking?" Harry inquired suspiciously, cautiously getting up.

The voice snorted. "I'm Constable Jeremy. Do you think I wear this uniform just to look pretty?"

Harry awkwardly wrung his hands together. "Sorry. I can't see," he said, alert for any suspicious sounds coming from the Constable.

The voice was silent for a long moment. "You can't see?" it asked hesitantly.

Harry sighed a little bit. "Yeah, it sucks. Sorry about not noticing your uniform."

The Constable made a choked sound. "Where are your parents?" he repeated.

"Oh, they died in an accident, even though I'm sure somebody killed them," Harry said authoritatively. His memories did not lie, even though he was sure that the stern questioning voice from before didn't quite believe him.

"Ah," the Constable said. "That's rather problematic. Where are you staying?"

"Nowhere," Harry said. "I was hoping I could find someplace to go."

"Do you have any family?"

"I don't think so."

"Is anyone looking for you?"

"No," Harry said decisively. The Muggle Constable didn't need to know that Harry ran away. It was going to be hard enough to evade the notice of the people in the hospital as it was.

"Well," the Constable said, "you look rather cold. Here, take my jacket. I know someplace where you could go."

Harry felt a thick and heavy jacket being placed around his shoulders. He sighed a little bit at that heavenly warmth. He carefully arranged it on his shoulders, fiddling with the large circular buttons on the front. Harry tilted his head up toward the Constable. "Really?"

"Yes, really," Constable Jeremy said, grabbing onto Harry's right hand. "Here, follow me very carefully. I'll try to keep you from bumping into anyone."

Harry was led for quite a while. Constable Jeremy did try to keep him from running into anything, although he could have done a better job warning Harry where the ground became uneven. Harry tripped several times. He kept quiet, though. He wanted to know where Constable Jeremy was leading him. He would be fine with it as long as nobody tried to give him to new parents.

After some time, Constable Jeremy slowed down and turned to Harry. "I'm taking you to Wool's Orphanage. Mrs. Cole isn't the nicest lady, but you'll have a place to stay and food to eat. If you're lucky, you might even get adopted."

Harry scoffed in his mind. He'd try to not get adopted. No new parents. The memories of his old ones would serve him just fine. "Alright," Harry said, trying to sound compliant.

"Here we are, then," Constable Jeremy said, and walked forward. Harry heard the loud screeching of a metal gate being dragged open. Harry was led up a cobblestone walkway to what he presumed was the orphanage. Constable Jeremy knocked on the door loudly several times before stepping back.

Harry heard the door open. A warm voice said "Hello, Jeremy" before falling silent. Harry had a strong feeling that he was being examined. He tried to stand up straighter, turning his eyes to where he imagined the head of the woman was. "Who is this?" the voice asked.

"Hello, Martha. Found this one curled under a tree in the park. Said his parents died and that nobody was looking for him. Do you have room for one more?" Constable Jeremy said.

"Well," Martha said, "I'd have to ask Mrs. Cole. But I think we could squeeze him in with Tom. He looks like he's the same age. But come in."

Constable Jeremy led Harry inside. Mercifully, it was warm inside. Harry awkwardly pulled off Constable Jeremy's jacket and held it out to him. He was rewarded with a chuckle, and the jacket was taken away.

"Mrs. Cole!" Martha called. "We have another one!"

"Bring him up!" Harry heard coming from above him. There must be several stories, Harry thought. Constable Jeremy started leading him, and then suddenly Constable Jeremy felt taller. Harry, confused, crashed his foot into something and fell. He fell forward onto what felt like stairs. The Constable forgot to warn him that they were there. Hissing in pain, Harry picked himself up, grabbing onto the railing.

"I'm sorry! I forgot!" the Constable said, sounding slightly guilty.

"Forgot what?" Martha asked curiously.

"Oh, he's blind," Constable Jeremy said, patting Harry's shoulder. "He seems so normal though that I forgot. Sorry about that," he added in Harry's direction. Harry grimaced a little bit but turned up the stairs, carefully pulling himself up. He wasn't going to cry. Not here.

Constable Jeremy followed him up, grabbing onto Harry's shoulder and steering him forward. He stopped suddenly and Harry was turned through a doorway, which clipped him on the shoulder. He winced, but suddenly he was forcibly pushed down onto a chair. He heard Martha whispering softly in front of him. He sat there for a minute, fiddling with the edges of his shirt. Suddenly, Constable Jeremy's voice rang out. "I need to get back to my patrol. Hope you like it here, boy!" Harry heard him get up from next to him, a chair squealing as it was pushed back. Then, Harry heard footsteps retreat.

He felt cold. He was alone now, in a strange place with a lady called Martha, and someone named Mrs. Cole. He kept breathing deeply. A few minutes passed before the hurried quiet conversation ended.

"I don't care, Martha. Someone would have roomed with Tom eventually, I expect. It's the only room we have. Go and get the children ready for dinner."

"Yes, Mrs. Cole." Martha said, leaving quickly. Harry thought that her footsteps sounded angry. But who was this 'Tom' character? Martha made his name sound ominous.

"Hello, boy. What's your name?" Mrs. Cole asked.

"H-harry," Harry said, surprised that she was talking to him. But of course, there wasn't anyone else left in the room.

"Well, Harry," Mrs. Cole said, "welcome to Wool's Orphanage. Tell me about yourself. Do you remember the names of your parents?"

Harry shook his head. He didn't want anyone finding out about his parents. If the wizards would actually search Muggle records…

"Do you have a last name?"

Harry thought this over for a second, but decided that it was safer not to say anything. So, he replied "no."

"Well," Mrs. Cole said, "in that case, we can provide you with one. Or you could choose one later if you wish."

"I'd like to choose one later, m'am," Harry said, suddenly remembering that manners were very important.

"Oh, you're a polite one!" Mrs. Cole said happily. "Well, that settles that. Martha said that you're blind?"

"Yes," Harry said, picking at a thread on the hem of his shirt.

"Well, in that case we'll have to work something out. Tell me what you need, and I'll try to provide it, alright?" Mrs. Cole said. "I don't really know how blind people get around, but I'll look into it. But for now, I think it's best to show you your room. Dinner starts soon."

Harry heard Mrs. Cole stand up, and stood up as well. She walked over to him and took his hand. Her hand felt cold, and the veins stood out a little bit. She led him out of the door to the room he was in (probably her office, he thought) and into the hallway. She then led him over to the stairs, giving him a warning, and then led him along another hallway. She then stopped at a room.

"This room is at the very end of the hallway, so it should be easy enough for you to find."

Mrs. Cole then knocked on the door.

"Tom?" she called. "You have a new roommate. Open the door."

Harry heard shuffling from the other side of the door. He heard the door open, and then Mrs. Cole forcefully walked him inside.

Harry froze.

Tom was glowing blue.

"Well, Harry," Mrs. Cole said, "this is Tom. Tom, this is Harry. He'll be your new roommate; Martha will bring an extra bed by later."

With that, Mrs. Cole left the room. Leaving him with Tom. Who was a wizard. Oh no.

They stared at each other for a few moments.

"Why are you here?" Harry suddenly blurted out, feeling mortified.

"What kind of question is that?" Tom asked. Harry saw that his deep blue magic flashed pale green. It was very pretty. Harry thought that Tom sounded rather hostile.

"W-well," Harry stammered, "I wanted to know why a wizard is in a Muggle orphanage."

Tom was silent for a moment before cautiously repeating "Wizard? Muggle?"

Harry paled. "You didn't know? Oh man, I'm going to be in so much trouble. Maybe." Harry wrung his hands again before furiously pulling at the thread of his shirt. Would he get in trouble for breaking the Statue of Secrecy? Tom wasn't a Muggle though. Oh gosh.

"Know what?" Tom's voice sounded a little high. Suddenly, Tom grabbed Harry's shirt, pulling him down onto something that Harry presumed to be a bed. Harry was exhausted, so when he felt that consciousness was slipping away in his panic, he let it fade gladly. The last thing he saw was Tom's pretty blue magic leaning over him. Pretty blue. Flashing green.


	2. A Whole New World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom finds out exactly what is going on, and when confronted with knowledge of a whole new world...

Chapter 2

Tom opened the door to his room feeling immensely confused.

It wasn't that surprising for someone new to show up, although he didn't expect to gain a roommate. Mrs. Cole had made it clear pretty early on how much disdain she held for him, even though he always tried to be polite in her presence. But why would she make someone room with him?

Oh. Tom remembered. The orphanage was getting pretty full now. Chances are, his was the last room left.

Mrs. Cole barked out a short introduction, punctuated with perfunctory motions between him and his new roommate, before she left. Ah, it never changed. She didn't like spending more time in his presence than was absolutely required.

Tom decided to study his roommate.

He really hoped that his roommate was nice. He'd tried to make friends with the other orphans, but something always made them act weird around him. Jumpy, even. It wasn't as bad as Mrs. Cole, but nevertheless, it still made something inside him hurt. His new roommate looked rather non-threatening; not like the bullies that terrorized Tom in the dark halls. That seemed to be a good sign.

In fact, Harry, as Mrs. Cole had called him, looked a little bit like Tom. He also had dark hair, although his hair looked as if it had been through a terrible storm and had been left to dry. Despite that, it was straight, unlike Tom's wavy hair. He wasn't very big for his age, which appeared close to Tom's, which made Tom happy. It wasn't often that he was bigger than someone in this horrid place. He also had the most curious green eyes that could have been glowing, being so intensely green. Tom suddenly realized that those eyes were staring at him with a terrified look.

That didn't bode well at all.

"Why are you here?" Harry blurted out. Tom stared at him in confusion. He lived here. It made more sense for him to be here than Harry! What kind of question was that? And the lack of manners! Mrs. Cole was going to be mad, Tom knew.

"What kind of question is that?" Tom asked with a tinge of anger. This was going all wrong. He was supposed to get along with his new roommate! This was his chance to win an ally before the other children in the orphanage scared him away. Harry didn't even have any time to grow to dislike him yet. His chance at maybe having - dare he say it - a friend seemed to be disappearing faster than the sun at sunset. The second that thought crossed his mind, Tom immediately wiped it. There was no use being hopeful; it would only lead to disappointment in the end.

The next words out of Harry's mouth completely baffled Tom. Wizard? Muggle? He cautiously repeated them, watching Harry's face carefully. Was this a joke? A new prank that the other orphans had cooked up just for him, with this new stranger? So that he would not expect it? But something felt different about this. He couldn't quite understand what it was, but he had the feeling this was not a prank. Something in Harry's face - the way "muggle" rolled off his tongue with a practiced flair - clued him in. He felt a little bit of hope rise up in him. Harry had said "wizard." Having someone else call him a wizard made him remember those times. When, inexplicably, Tom had made something happen just because he wished it. Wizards did magic? That's what the books that Martha read out loud mentioned (not that he listened, of course). Was that what he did? No, he was being ridiculous. He was getting his hopes up for absolutely nothing. Remember, Tom, hopes lead to disappointments. Better to clear your mind of them before you get hurt. Magic did not exist; magic could not exist. 

However, the horrified face that Harry pulled after blurting out that strange statement, complete with his panicked mutterings, struck a bolt of unease and fear down Tom's spine. He needed to find out what was going on. The way that Harry had mentioned him "not knowing something" as if it was expected for him to know this was too telling. It indicated truth. Tom had become rather skilled at detecting truth and lies; it was necessary to avoid the numerous traps the older orphans enjoyed setting up for him. Tom had to know more.

"Know what?" Tom demanded, grabbing onto Harry and pushing him onto the bed. Oh no, that was too rough. Bad idea. What happened to his resolve not to scare this one away? Too late anyway; Harry had been scared before even properly meeting Tom. Tom's mind was whirling with hopeful thoughts, with furious denials, and overall a blanket of sheer confusion and disbelief. The worst part was that there was a little part of his mind that was telling him that this was true; that Harry was to be believed.

Harry, gone pale, stared at him in fear before suddenly his eyes blanked and closed, Harry's body relaxing into the thin mattress.

Tom froze. Did Harry just...faint on him? Like the ladies that Martha told about in the books she read the other orphans? Like the swooning maidens who were too delicate to handle the tiniest bit of stress? For some reason, that thought seemed inappropriately funny as he looked at Harry's face.

Tom unclenched his hands from Harry's shirt and stared at him. Harry looked a little bit ragged. His plain white clothes that looked much like pajamas were covered in dirt and grass stains. There was also a long bit of thread that was hanging out of the hem of his shirt that appeared to be particularly frayed. Harry probably had a nervous habit of some sort. Tom continued looking him over, scanning him. Even though he knew that it wasn't really sleeping that Harry was doing, Tom felt an absurd amount of relief that someone actually permitted themselves to be unconscious in his presence (no matter how accidental it seemed).

As Tom's eyes wandered to Harry's hands, he noticed a streak of red curling over the fingers of his right hand. Tom looked Harry over closely, trying to find the source of blood that he thought he saw. As Tom's gaze drew by Harry's feet, he felt himself breathe in sharply. Harry's feet looked absolutely horrible. They looked dirty and bloody, and Tom could see a few cuts scattered. They also looked a bit pale and bluish. Why didn't Harry have shoes? Did he even bring anything with him besides the clothes on his back?

Tom decided that this wouldn't do at all. Martha hadn't brought by a new bed yet, so Tom was going to try to keep his bed as clean as possible while Harry took his unplanned nap. Mind set, Tom got up and walked out the door to the third floor bathroom down the hallway. He snatched a worn towel off of the handrack and walked over to the battered sink, wetting it. The water was cold, but he didn't want to go to the kitchens to heat it; better not to be a target. He clutched the wet hand towel and carefully ferried it to his room without dripping too much on the floors. Mrs. Cole would be very mad. Tom shivered.

Harry was still lying on his bed. Tom sighed a little before walking over and carefully trying to wash Harry's feet. Something in Tom rebelled at that action, but Tom quelled it. He didn't want a mess, and Harry's feet did look very battered. After he was done with that, he tried to clean off Harry's clothes somewhat, with limited success. His self-imposed tasks finished, Tom sat down next to Harry on the bed and thought over what had happened.

What did he know for sure? Harry looked terrified at first, much like the other orphans did whenever Tom was around. But they didn't start doing that until much later. At first, they were just reluctant to get near him. But Harry had recognized him or saw something in him that made him so scared. But then the way that he had looked at Tom almost incredulously when mentioning "wizard" and that strange word, "muggle," made it seem like Tom was missing a vital piece of information. It was like Harry was privy to some information that he thought Tom should have.

Maybe...he could also do magic. The fact that Harry seemed horrified when Tom didn't know made it seem like somebody forbid him to talk about it. Did that mean that there were more people out there? Tom wasn't sure if he dared to believe that magic existed, although it would explain so much. How Billy Stubbs began screaming when after he tried to punch Tom in the face. How his injuries didn't last longer than a day. How, when he was very hungry, the amount of food on his plate seemed to stay the same no matter how much he ate.

Tom desperately wanted answers. Harry had dangled something tantalizing right in front of his face before pulling it out of reach. For now, Tom decided, he was going to operate on the assumption that magic did exist, and that Harry knew something about it. Excessively hopeful or not, Tom had the feeling that he was right.

Hearing the dinner bell ring, Tom glanced quickly at Harry's still unconscious form and sighed. He headed down the stairs, nervous but also hopeful. Maybe he should try to grab some dinner for Harry. He would probably be hungry - no, he would be more receptive to Tom's questions - and would appreciate the food.

* * *

Tom was sitting in his room, slowly plodding through a dictionary he found in the play room, when he heard a sound. Suddenly excited, he put the book down and watched as Harry groaned and lifted his hands to rub blearily at his eyes. Harry slowly sat up, still rubbing, before slowly dropping his hands. Then, Harry's odd, glowing green eyes flashed to Tom, widening slightly. Harry's mouth dropped open.

"You passed out," Tom supplied helpfully. "You were probably hungry and tired. I snuck you some dinner." He motioned to the plate of vegetables and potatoes with the meager slice of ham that was lying on the windowsill.

Harry was looking at him suspiciously. "Okay." Harry looked in the direction of the windowsill for a moment before his face fell.

"Aren't you going to get it?" Tom asked incredulously. "You must be hungry."

"I am!" insisted Harry before looking down at his hands and fiddling with that one long thread. Tom was right; it must be a nervous tick. "I just can't see so…"

"What do you mean?" Tom asked. "Of course you can see; you definitely were staring at me earlier when Mrs. Cole brought you in. And when you woke up you definitely saw me."

Harry's face contorted into a rather suspicious expression. "Well," Harry said hesitantly, "I can't see muggle things."

That word again! "What does 'muggle' mean?" demanded Tom. "You mentioned it earlier like I was supposed to know what it means."

"I guess it's too late now," Harry said, fingers accidentally ripping the thread out of the shirt. They began scrabbling around in search of another. "Uh, hi Tom. I'm a wizard, and I'm pretty sure you're a wizard, and we're both in this orphanage, and 'muggle' means nonmagical."

Tom was silent for a moment before asking, "how do I know that you're telling the truth?"

Harry looked surprised for a moment before settling into a contemplative expression. "I guess you have to trust me?" he asked, peeking at Tom through his eyelashes. That reminded Tom of Harry's claims to be unable to see.

"So you're saying that you can't see things without magic? So you can only see magic?" That was the most bizarre thing he'd ever heard of. It did rather explain why Mrs. Cole was holding on to him in that odd way when he walked in. Wait a second..."So I have magic?"

"Well, from what I can see, yes," Harry said, studying him. "Yours is blue. It also has little bits of green in it." Harry coughed awkwardly. Tom thought he heard a low mutter of "I think it's pretty" from Harry's direction, and preened a little.

"Thanks," Tom said. "I think I believe you." Something was certainly going on, and the part of him that was insisting that what Harry was saying was true was growing. It felt absolutely right to think of magic and wizardry and muggles. Tom always knew that he was different, although he wasn't sure how. But now he had a name for why, and it was a brilliant reason. He had magic! And he wasn't alone. Looking at Harry's wide green eyes, he felt extremely reassured. Harry seemed to know things. He would explain.

Tom couldn't understand why he was trusting this stranger. But he couldn't bring himself to even contemplate the possibility that it was all a hoax.

"So, Harry…" Tom started, "what exactly do you know about this, then?"

The most fascinating four hours of Tom's rather short life began there, dinner forgotten. Harry told him about the Wizarding World, how there was a Ministry of Magic to keep law, how wizards would go to a school called Hogwarts and learn how to control their magic with a wand, how dragons and fairies and werewolves were real, how there was a whole secret community just hiding in plain sight all along. How Tom and Harry were part of this secret community already, from the very beginning. How when they were eleven they would receive a letter and would go away to school for most of the year, far away from the orphanage. How the reason that Tom was so above his peers was because wizarding children matured faster at a young age to keep accidental magic occurrences down. How great witches and wizards like Merlin and Morgana le Fay shaped the world. How Tom suddenly had a future that he could look forward to.

How Harry had been part of an attack on his parents and how he was hit with a spell of some kind that completely destroyed his sight. How even though his eyes were healed (in a magical hospital!) he couldn't see. How he eventually began to see magic, how he decided to escape the hospital so that he wouldn't be given away, and how he had ended up here. How Tom was the only other wizard in the orphanage, how magic was to be kept secret, how they were now bound together with a secret kept for ages that only they knew.

By the time Martha marched through the third floor hallway, calling lights out, Tom and Harry had already squeezed onto Tom's bed (Martha didn't have the greatest memory, so she forgot to bring an extra bed) and all Tom could think of was that he thought that he had made a friend and how determined he was to keep him from being taken away.


	3. Can You See Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Certain advantages come with being able to see magic...especially if you're playing hide and seek.

Chapter 3

November 12, 1932

Harry woke up slowly, lazily snuggling into his warm bed. He yawned a bit, opening his eyes. He started awake, sitting up, staring at the pretty blue magic. Oh yeah. Tom. Harry giggled a little bit at his paranoia, studying the magic a bit closer.

It was so pretty! It made up Tom's form in a very dense array of lines that reminded Harry of threads that ran along his arms and curled around in his chest. Funnily enough, the lines seemed to be thinnest around Tom's head. For some reason, that observation just seemed right to Harry. His parents had always said that magic was governed by the heart, not the mind.

Harry frowned. His parents were gone. Even after quite a few days (Harry had lost count of the days in the hospital) that fact made him very sad. His dad wouldn't transfigure funny things for his amusement anymore. His mum wouldn't give him crushingly strong hugs anymore. Harry felt tears coming, so he rubbed madly at his eyes. He needed to distract himself from bad thoughts. Crying wasn't a good idea now. They were gone forever, no matter how Harry loathed to admit it.

Harry reached out a hand and poked Tom's face. To Harry's shock, Tom burst into a sitting position after a second, his magic forming claws instead of relaxing in soft coils like it was just a moment before. After a second, where Tom was most likely staring at Harry, Tom relaxed, magic included, although Harry noted that it still looked a little agitated.

"Why'd you do that?" Tom asked, voice blurry with sleep. "I could've hit you."

"I was bored," Harry replied, trying to sound nonchalant. "I don't know what you're supposed to do here."

"Oh well," Tom said, rubbing at his eyes. "First, breakfast."

Harry was instantly interested. "Oh, it's been a while since I've eaten," Harry said longingly.

"Oh yeah," Tom said sheepishly. "We missed dinner yesterday. I didn't want to interrupt you."

"Well," Harry said thoughtfully, "I would've missed dinner too if I could learn about magic."

"We'll miss breakfast if we don't hurry," Tom said, although Harry could hear the suppressed excitement in Tom's voice. Tom got up from the bed and walked away. Harry listened to the rustling noises as Tom stuck his hands into something. Probably a dresser of some sort.

Tom came back, thrusting something scratchy into Harry's arms. "You'll be getting new clothes later, so I guess you can wear mine now."

"Oh," Harry said, "thanks." Harry pulled at the clothes and ascertained that he was holding a very ragged shirt and a pair of rather warm trousers. He shrugged and started to undress.

"I'm sorry about that shirt."

"Huh?" Harry asked.

"The shirt. It's a bit old, but I haven't retrieved my laundry today."

"That's fine," Harry said. He thought that he couldn't really complain very much, if that was all that Tom had to offer. He didn't want to be rude. His parents made sure he had good manners...no Harry, stop thinking about them.

Harry finished pulling on the clothing, watching as Tom also finished pulling something on. "Hmmm…" Harry said contemplatively.

"What is it?" Tom asked.

"Well," Harry said, "I can see your magic through your clothing like it's not even there. But, when you were looking for the clothes over there," motioned Harry in the direction of the dresser, "I couldn't see the magic on your arms when you were looking for clothes."

"Oh, that's interesting!" Tom said excitedly. "Maybe you can't see through wood? Is it too thick? Or maybe clothing is just too close to the skin?"

"We could try it out?" Harry offered. "It would be interesting to see what I can see through."

Tom grinned. Harry noticed with a start that he could tell how Tom's face was moving by watching the threads there. He didn't believe he could notice that before, but perhaps now he was more used to seeing people's magic. Or maybe his magic-sight improved overnight like last time. If that was really what happened, the change wasn't as extraordinary. But that made Harry happier anyway. At least he'd be able to see Tom's facial expressions now.

"After breakfast, though," Tom said. "Let's go." Tom grabbed hold of Harry's arm and started dragging him in the direction of the door. Harry noticed with interest that his feet didn't hurt so much anymore.

"Tom!" Harry complained. "Slow down."

"Sorry," Tom said, not sounding even the tiniest bit sorry. "Can't be late."

Harry sighed, but nevertheless allowed himself to be dragged. Tom opened the door and pulled Harry through into the hallway. There, Tom paused for a second. Harry used that moment to rub his feet against the floor. To his surprise, they did hurt a lot less. Harry assumed that Tom must have helped with them, and Harry himself just didn't notice. More proof that Tom was a good person.

"Who's that?" an unfamiliar voice asked. Harry jerked a bit with surprise.

"Poor new kid. Stuck with creepy Tom." said another voice.

"Hey, new kid! If you know what's good for you, you'd stay away from the freak," the first voice said.

Harry watched as Tom's magic grew agitated again. The claws of magic looped out from Tom's body, slid forward through the air a foot, and then merged back with Tom's main body of magic. It looked rather angry. Harry was struck with a thought. Was this related to accidental magic?

"But Tom's nice," Harry said, trying to sound innocent. For some reason, he felt that maybe that would diffuse the situation somewhat. Tom was getting very mad, and the other orphans might act rashly. Also, accidental magic in front of muggles was never a good idea.

"So you think," the second voice said.

"He's evil. He'll kill you and then cut you up and look at your insides!" the first voice said.

Harry noted that Tom seemed to stiffen a little, magic stilling. Was there some truth in that accusation? No matter. Harry would find out later what that jab was about.

"He's been nice so far," Harry said. "He's showing me where to get breakfast."

"He'll throw you down the stairs!" the first voice insisted, and Harry started as a cold hand grabbed onto his other arm, tugging insistently.

"I know you have to share a room with him, but it's okay. We'll help you out," the first voice said. It could have sounded reassuring if not for the bitter note of fear Harry could detect hiding in the voice.

"No thank you," Harry said, trying to shake the arm free. "I'll judge for myself."

That was the wrong thing to say.

The hand let go of him suddenly. "He's gotten to you already?" the second voice asked, fearful.

"It's too late now," the first voice echoed. "Let's get away from these freaks, John."

"Okay," John said. Harry could hear his footsteps draw away. A second pair of footsteps soon started to follow, before nearing Harry. He stumbled as someone knocked their shoulder into him, falling into Tom. Harry fell on top of Tom, who was still suspiciously silent. The footsteps left.

"Tom?" Harry asked. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Tom said absently, shoving at Harry. "You're heavy."

"Sorry," Harry said, rolling off of him. "Are you hurt?"

"No," Tom said shortly, getting up. Harry watched him carefully. His magic was still. It was as if Tom was in shock.

"What happened?" Harry asked cautiously. "Why did you freeze like that? Even your magic stopped moving."

Tom was silent as he pulled Harry off of the floor.

He was silent the whole way down to the first floor, aside from a muttered comment, "stairs," after Harry tripped the first time they went down the steps. He led Harry along quietly to the dining room, settling him down at a chair before leaving "to get us food." Harry watched as his magic flashed in and out of sight, seeing the outlines of many tables and chairs. He waited patiently, fiddling with his hands again. After a few minutes passed, Harry jerked as he heard someone sit down.

"Hello there!" said a cheerful voice. "I'm Alyssa."

"Hello," Harry replied cautiously. "My name is Harry."

"Martha told me about you already," Alyssa said flippantly. "So, is it true?"

"What's true?" Harry asked. Alyssa sounded like a gossip.

"Are you really," Alyssa whispered, leaning closer, "blind?"

Harry sighed. Was it so hard to believe? He had a feeling this wouldn't be the very first time someone asked him that question. "Yes," he said, trying to keep his annoyance out of his tone.

"So, you can't see how many fingers I'm holding up?" Alyssa asked excitedly.

"Obviously not," Harry replied, struggling to sound normal. It wouldn't do to aggravate any more orphans, especially since they were going to be sharing living space.

"That's cool!" Alyssa exclaimed. "I have to tell the others!" She pushed the chair back, probably getting up, before sitting back down again with a plop. "Actually," she said, "there was something else."

"Oh?" Harry asked.

"Is it true that you're rooming with Tom?" Alyssa asked with a tone of horror and excitement. "John and Robert told me that you said that he was okay. Is he really?"

Before Harry could reply, a familiar voice cut in. "Yes, he's rooming with me."

Harry jerked. He hadn't even noticed Tom come closer, which was odd since Tom's magic was stretching at least a foot out from his body again.

"Here's your food, Harry," Tom said coldly, turning towards Alyssa. "That's my spot."

"Of course!" Alyssa said hurriedly. Harry heard the chair jerk, so he assumed that Alyssa ran away.

"Was that necessary?" Harry asked. Tom just looked mulish.

"Did you like her company?" Tom asked, almost angrily.

"Not particularly, but if you scare everyone it's no wonder that nobody seems to like you."

"Shut up," Tom said, beginning to eat. Harry felt in front of him carefully, locating a fork. He began to stab at his plate, humming happily when he found something.

Breakfast went slowly, with Harry making a bit of a mess of himself trying to eat eggs until Tom huffed and cut them into small pieces, despite Harry's protestations. Eventually, Tom grabbed their plates and left to put them away. Alyssa ran up again, plopping herself into Tom's chair.

"You know," Alyssa said contemplatively, "maybe he is alright."

"Huh?" Harry asked.

"I saw him cut your food for you."

Harry flushed. "I was perfectly capable of eating without any help."

"How?" Alyssa asked. "I don't get it."

Harry huffed, searching out Tom's magic. Alyssa was rather annoying. As his eyes focused on Tom's magic, which was drawing nearer, snapping furiously, he heard the chair rattle again.

"Thanks," Harry said before Tom could snap at him again. "She was being annoying."

"Of course she was," Tom said. "Let's go back to our room."

"Okay," Harry said slowly, "but only if you tell me what happened in the hallway."

Harry crossed his arms, staring at Tom searchingly. Tom appeared very uncomfortable for a few moments before he threw his hands up and sighed. "Okay, you pest."

Harry beamed at him. grabbing onto Tom's arm. "Lead on, valiant knight!"

Tom snorted a bit, but obliged.

Soon, they were back in their room. Martha had finally brought up a ratty cot. Harry sat on it, shifting uncomfortably as something seemed to poke him. Tom's face was filled with disbelief.

"They're giving you that?" Tom asked incredulously. "That cot is ancient."

"I guess they don't have much else?" Harry said.

"That's just terrible. Get off of that." Tom commanded. Tom got up and pulled Harry off of the cot. "We're getting rid of that."

"If you don't mind me asking," Harry said, "how exactly are you going to do that?"

"There will be an accident," Tom said simply.

Harry raised his eyebrows but stayed silent. Tom pulled Harry down next to him on his bed, settling himself crosslegged across from Harry.

"So," Tom said. "You wanted to know."

"Well, yes," Harry said. "We're friends, right? Friends know everything about each other."

Tom gave a weak smile. "Yeah."

Harry waited for Tom to begin speaking. His fingers began searching out the ends of the ragged shirt for another thread to play with. After a few tense moments went by, Tom started.

"I was curious, one day." Tom glanced at Harry before fixing his gaze on his feet. "I wanted to know what was inside us. I knew there was blood because when Billy punches me, that comes out. But I didn't know what was really inside. And Mrs. Cole forbid me from going to the library and I had to know!"

Harry watched as Tom bit his lip. He had a feeling he knew where this was going. He honestly wouldn't be too surprised. With how Tom's magic defaulted into claws half the time, it wasn't much of a stretch to imagine Tom committing some violent act.

"So," Harry asked cautiously, "what did you cut open?"

Tom froze, staring at him. "How did you know?"

"I guessed," Harry said, smiling. "But really, tell me."

Tom looked at Harry searchingly for a little while, as if gauging Harry's reaction. "Well," Tom began slowly, "there was a rat in my room that kept trying to bite me."

"That's gross!" Harry exclaimed. "Rats are just icky!"

"Yeah, I know," Tom said with relish. "I killed it with a knife I stole from the kitchens. And then it was just there, you know? I cut it open to look inside. Robert saw me, I think, when he was calling everyone to dinner."

"Oh," Harry said. "Did you learn anything?"

"Well," Tom said contemplatively, "everything's really bloody inside. No wonder we bleed whenever we cut ourselves."

"That's kind of gross," Harry said, poking at his leg.

"Yeah, I didn't try that again," Tom said. "I read about anatomy when I got to go to the library again. I still have a book about it, I think."

"Oh, really?" Harry asked. "Could you read to me?"

"I don't have time to read it out loud to you!" Tom protested. "Can't you read yourself?"

"No," Harry said, looking at Tom pointedly.

"Oh. Sorry," Tom said, looking sheepish.

"How am I supposed to learn anything if I can't read? I want to know anatomy too!" Harry pushed. "Also, maybe reading out loud will help you remember things?"

Tom was quiet for a minute, magic spiraling in the confines of his skin. If Harry squinted, it almost looked like the magic was shaped like a question mark. But that could be wishful thinking, Harry reminded himself. Why would magic make shapes like that? Another thing to investigate. Tom suddenly straightened, and slid off the bed.

"Alright," Tom said with a sigh. "I'll read to you. But no falling asleep on me! And if you don't listen and actually pay attention, then I won't read to you anymore."

"Deal!" Harry said cheerfully. He watched as Tom walked over to another corner of the room and opened a door of some sort. After examining the parts of Tom's magic that was blocked, Harry decided that it must be a wardrobe of some sort. Tom shuffled in there for a minute before returning, sitting at the head of the bed, leaning next to the wall.

Harry moved closer, settling himself next to Tom, as Tom began to read out loud a fairly dry text about human anatomy. Despite the subject manner not being as interesting as Quidditch or his mum's lessons in beginning Charm theory, Harry found that he was riveted. The fact that Tom was actually reading out loud to him just made him feel warm inside.

They sat that way the rest of the morning, Tom's voice droning on and on about blood vessels, Harry listening quietly. Tom wouldn't know this detail until much later, but eventually he would have trouble reading without reading things out loud, and would have to make do with whispering under his breath when Harry wasn't around. Harry would find that he would never remember things quite as well if Tom wasn't the one reading to him.

* * *

A few hours later, Tom put his book down. "Harry," he croaked, "I don't think I can read out loud that long."

"Oh," Harry said, waking up from a slight daze. "Okay, let's play a game."

"What game?" Tom asked cautiously. "Nobody ever wanted to play with me, so I don't think I know very many."

"That's horrible!" Harry exclaimed. "I know a lot! I used to play with Lucretia. I can teach you."

"Really?" Tom asked, crossing his arms. "Tell me about them."

"Well, I used to love playing Dragontamer! But we don't have enough people to make that fun. Oh, I also liked to play Aurors. And sometimes we would play Werewolf Hunt, although that always made Mum mad."

"Why?" Tom inquired.

"She said it was mean to werewolves, so she would call it Hide and Seek instead."

"Oh, I know that game!" Tom said. "Sometimes Billy and Amy gather everyone to play it, although they like looking for me to hit me. I'm always better than them, though."

"I wouldn't hit you," Harry said. "Would you want to play that?"

"Sure," Tom agreed, smiling a bit. "Do you want to play outside? It's a bit cold but there's a bit of plants to hide behind in the courtyard."

"Sure!" Harry said cheerfully. "But," he said, fingering his shirt, "I don't think I'm dressed for it. Mum always cast a Warming Charm on me before I went out…"

"Oh, I forgot!" Tom said, looking furious. "I was going to get my laundry."

Harry got the impression that Tom didn't like forgetting things much.

"It's okay," Harry tried to reassure, but Tom would have none of it.

"Just wait here," Tom commanded, getting up. "I'll grab it real quick, and I'll nick you some gloves since I only have one pair."

"Thanks...wait a second!" Harry protested, getting up as well. "If you steal gloves for me, then someone else won't have any!"

"That would be their problem, though, wouldn't it?" Tom said flippantly. "They should've hid it better."

"Still!" Harry protested. "Stealing is wrong!"

"No it's not," Tom spat. "When everyone else has more than you, I'm sure it's only fair that you even out the advantage. Do you want to freeze your fingers so bad that they'll fall off?"

Harry paled. "Would that really happen?" he asked fearfully, rubbing his hands together.

"Yes," Tom said venomously. "It will. So, you'll take the gloves."

"Okay," Harry said, biting back his protestations. It would be so convenient to have a wand so that they could cast Warming Charms! No wonder his mum always insisted on them when he went outside to play. But Harry was attached to his fingers, and if everyone else really did have more than him, then maybe it was okay? Just this once? For some reason, Harry was finding it hard to apply his mum's talks on doing what was right to this situation.

"Good," Tom said, walking to the door. "Remember, you are more important than anyone else."

"Okay," Harry repeated, feeling his fingers very carefully as he watched Tom's magic disappear through the doorway. What Tom was saying did make sense in some way. He was new to the orphanage, so he hadn't really received much at all. Which reminded Harry...what kind of place was this? He'd been here a day, and he'd only received a horrible cot that Tom promised to get rid of, and not much else. The food wasn't particularly good, nor particularly plentiful, but it was enough. But clothes! And nobody noticed Harry's injuries. In fact, only Tom did! Harry didn't really notice at the time, but he was sure that Tom was the one who fixed them. It was as if the adults in the orphanage were somewhere else entirely!

Harry started to regret being left at this orphanage (maybe he could have found an alternative to new parents?) before he realized that he would have never met Tom. And Tom was so lonely, surrounded by muggles all the time! And it was nice to make a new friend, especially one that seemed to be nice about Harry's sorta-blindness. Harry doubted that he could have convinced Lucretia to read to him. He probably could convince Minerva to read to him, but she would sound so exasperated having to read to a "little kid" that it wouldn't be worth it. Harry wasn't that little!

Harry continued looking around Tom's - wait no, his and Tom's - room. Maybe it would be a good idea to get acquainted with it. He got up and walked slowly over to where he remembered seeing Tom look for the book. Harry ran his hands over the wood, feeling numerous scratches and a few chips. He suspected that the wardrobe must be very old, since Tom didn't seem like the kind of person to be careless with his things. Harry carefully opened it, sticking his hand inside. He felt clothes and more clothes, as well as a few shelves filled with some small, interestingly shaped items. Harry pulled one of the items closer, and ghosted his fingers over the surface. It was long and sharp, and it was rather cold at one end. Was this the knife Tom had used on the rat? Harry put it aside.

Hm, what was this? Harry thought that he felt a zipper of some sort. He pulled at it, and the box opened. Inside, Harry felt some pencils and pens. Feeling a little bit deeper, he felt a pad of paper. Was Tom an artist, perhaps? Harry decided that he would ask Tom about it later.

Finished with his investigation (it was not snooping since the room was now theirs!) Harry padded back to the bed and plopped down. Just in time, too, as Harry noticed the blue of Tom's magic a few seconds before Tom walked through the doorway.

"I found some gloves," Tom said, throwing something at Harry. Harry tried to catch it, but was hit in the face instead. Huffing in irritation, Harry pulled the gloves off of his face and stroked them with his fingers. They felt woolen and warm.

"Here," Tom said, still sounding a bit cold. Harry started as Tom pulled a hat on Harry's head. "I also have an extra scarf," Tom said, dropping it onto Harry's lap. Harry smiled a bit as Tom walked over to the dresser and started putting clothes inside it from the box he brought in.

"Thanks," Harry said, feeling very warm.

"It's nothing," Tom said dismissively. "Martha wanted me to tell you that she'll be coming by in a few hours to look for clothes that the others don't fit anymore, and if that's not enough, she'll take you shopping."

Finally, Harry thought. "Okay. But let's go and play hide and seek first, okay?"

"Sure," Tom said. "I'm ready."

Tom led Harry outside into the courtyard. "I'll count to thirty while you hide," Tom said.

Harry grinned. "Make it twenty!"

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Alright then. One…two...three…"

Harry ran off in a random direction, shouting behind him, "keep your eyes closed!" Harry raced toward where he remembered the gate of the orphanage to be. He slammed into the wall with a grunt, and began running sideways along it, running a hand across the rough, stone surface. He crashed into someone else who yelled "hey, watch where yer goin'!" but kept running. Harry's time was running out. He could hear that Tom was on fifteen. Harry stuck out his left hand and the second it hit a tree, Harry skidded to a stop and flopped onto the ground.

The ground was obnoxiously cold and icy. Harry scanned the courtyard, watching as Tom's distinctive blue magic began whirling around him, making that curious, question mark shape over and over again. Tom spun around and began walking in the direction that Harry had started to run in.

Harry sniggered a bit. He was sure that he ran fast enough that Tom would take some time to find him. As Harry watched, however, Tom glanced in his direction and started walking toward him.

No! Harry was sure he hid behind a plant of some sort. He should be fairly hidden. Tom had barely started searching! Harry sighed in resignation as Tom walked up to him and kicked him in the side.

"Found you," Tom said gleefully. "Get up before you freeze half to death."

"Aw!" Harry whined. "How did you find me so fast?"

"Well," Tom said, laughing, "I could see you easily."

Harry frowned. "I hid behind a tree."

Tom raised his eyebrows at Harry. "It's wintertime. Do you expect trees to have enough leaves to hide you?"

Harry tried sitting up before plunking himself back down onto the icy ground. "I give up," Harry said. "You win."

"Not yet," Tom said. "You have to try finding me as well."

Harry looked at him dubiously. "You expect me to find you? I can't see, you know."

"You can see my magic, can't you?" Tom said. "I think that evens it out."

Harry made a noise of understanding. "Then watch as I beat you!"

"Not likely," Tom sniffed.

"I will," Harry insisted. "I'm counting now. One...two...three…"

Harry closed his eyes, catching a glimpse of Tom running away, magic swirling out in excitement. He continued counting to twenty, although he was unsure that he counted at a consistent rate. It wasn't cheating if he speeded up by accident, right?

"Twenty!" Harry called out happily. "I'm going to find you, Tom!"

Harry scanned the area in front of him for a glimpse of blue. On the first scan, he didn't notice anything, but on his second look he thought he saw some excited blue threads of magic coiling out from behind something. Harry smirked. He was so going to find Tom. Faster than Tom found him, anyway!

Harry started walking towards where he saw Tom's magic, hand out in front to make sure he didn't hit anything. As he halved the distance between him and Tom, he heard jogging footsteps approach from his left.

"Hey, you!" called out a high-pitched voice. "Stop!"

Harry slowed to a halt, irritated. This wouldn't count as part of Harry's searching time, surely? "What is it?" Harry asked.

"Are you really playing a game with Tom?"

Again with the incredulous tone? "Yes," Harry snapped. "And you are?"

"Amy Benson," Amy said. "I almost couldn't believe it when I heard from Robert!"

"Well, it's true," Harry snapped. "Now, I was busy."

Harry set off toward Tom, growling a bit when the blue magic was nowhere to be seen. Tom must have seen him approach and moved. Sneaky, cheating bastard! Harry mentally apologized to his parents, wherever they were now, for swearing.

Aha! As Harry's hand hit an old barrel half embedded in the ground, he caught a glimpse of Tom a few feet away, hiding underneath something. As Harry stomped over to Tom, he kicked at the object Tom was hiding under. It rang under his foot, like metal.

"Hey!" Tom said, pulling himself out from underneath it. "That was mean!"

"Sorry," Harry said. "I was irritated."

"Yeah, that's Amy," Tom spat, glaring behind Harry. "She's always really mean. She thinks that just because she's two years older she can order everyone around, me included."

"I see," Harry said, before bursting into laughter. Tom looked at him, confused, before sighing and hitting his forehead. "That was a terrible joke," Tom said.

"I know," Harry said, "but it was oddly funny."

"Anyways," Tom said, "don't kick the metal slide when I'm hiding under it, okay?"

"Sure," Harry agreed. "I'm not promising anything about when Amy's underneath it, though."

Tom smiled proudly at Harry. "That's perfectly alright."

"So," Harry said, looking behind him into the darkness before focusing on the dancing of Tom's magic, "wanna play again?"

They ended up spending the whole morning and a good part of the afternoon playing all sorts of variations on hide and seek. Harry was horrible at hiding, no matter how hard he tried. Even after getting the location of everything in the courtyard, he still couldn't hide well enough to keep Tom from finding him almost instantly. If Harry didn't know better, he would think Tom was an owl, with his finding-Harry skills!

Tom didn't do much better. His hiding places got distinctly more ridiculous and impossible, but his excitement in finding "the perfect place to hide" caused his magic to dance feet away from his actual body, making finding him easy for Harry. Despite how quick the game always ended, Tom and Harry nevertheless continued playing it, if only to tease each other about how terrible they were at hiding.

Eventually, it was time for lunch. As Harry and Tom trooped inside behind all the other kids who were playing outside, shaking ice out of their clothing, Martha spoke up.

"Harry dear, after lunch meet me here, okay? We'll look for some clothes for ya."

"Sure, ma'am," Harry said, shooting a look at Tom. While Tom's face was blank, his magic roiled about him in irritation. Harry wondered why Tom didn't like her. Besides being forgetful, Martha seemed nicer than Mrs. Cole.

"Alright, dearie," Martha said. "Have a nice lunch! And be nice, Tom," she said, pointing a finger.

That answered Harry's question.

Harry elbowed Tom in the side, and he muttered "yes, Martha."

Martha then left them to enter the dining room. Harry pulled at Tom's arm.

"Come on, I'm hungry!" Harry said. Tom seemed to snap out of his daze (was this a recurring issue for him?) and began to lead Harry to their table.

Harry smiled a little bit as Tom fetched them both food. They proceeded to enjoy a small, yet rather filling lunch, teasing each other all the while.

Harry thought afterwards that this was what it must be like to have a sibling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right now, they're five, although Tom is actually almost six. I know they talk and act a little too mature for their age; it's partially me being lazy, since I have a lot of things to fit in, and it has to be set early enough that Tom wouldn't be extremely suspicious of anyone new. I also have a headcanon that during the Middle Ages, where persecution for magic was high, kids with high maturity levels at a young age would have less frivolous displays of magic and would therefore survive more often. If that lame explanation isn't enough for you, then too bad. ;D


	4. A Burning Shirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A startling revelation occurs...

_Written listening to Vance Joy's song, Riptide._

* * *

After Harry finished stuffing his lunch into his mouth (something that made Tom stare at him in horror), he leapt out of his chair. Finally, new clothes! Although Harry had never been a very big fan of clothing before, the prospect of getting new clothes that were actually his was a very attractive prospect. No matter how well-meaning Tom was, his clothes just didn't fit Harry that well.

It was unfair! Harry knew that Tom was about the same age as him, but he was already bigger! Harry suspected that he would be small for his age for a while yet (something that his father had teased him about). Well. At least Harry could hope that one day, he'd outgrow Tom. He was going to be a famous Auror. How lame would it be if he was shorter than all the dark wizards he defeated?

Harry snapped out of his thoughts as Tom poked him on the forehead. "You look like Mrs. Cole after she has her gin," Tom criticized, tilting his head and examining Harry's face with interest. "What were you thinking of?"

"Nothing," Harry said, trying to be nonchalant. "I'm just a bit excited about getting new clothes."

"Sure," Tom said, tone disbelieving. "Well, I don't know what Martha is going to say, but I'm coming with you. Knowing her, she'd dress you in terribly girly things because she finds it cute." Tom said that with a voice that implied that cute was the worst possible trait that Harry could have.

"Cute?" Harry asked, horrified. "Help me, Tom!"

"Gladly," Tom said, pursing his lips and grabbing onto Harry's arm. He dragged Harry out of the dining room to the back hallway where they had entered from the courtyard. They both stopped to wait.

Martha was nowhere to be seen.

After a few minutes had gone by, Harry started to fidget. Standing was so boring! Where was Martha? Harry's estimation of the quality of his new living accommodations was reaching dismal levels. Tom's here, Tom's here, Harry repeated in his head. That made it worth it.

Harry glanced at Tom. Tom's face was so expressionless! It was kind of creepy. It was almost as if Tom wasn't really Tom at all. Maybe it was a huge, human size doll? Harry shuddered at the thought. They stood waiting for a few more minutes. Harry couldn't handle it anymore. Harry had to check.

Harry slowly lifted one finger and, when Tom showed no signs of noticing the small movement, he quickly jabbed it into Tom's cheek.

"Ow," Tom said, glaring at Harry. "What was that for?"

"You were being too quiet," Harry said. "I thought you were replaced by a big Tom statue!"

"That's a ridiculous idea," Tom said. Despite his scathing tone, Harry thought he could detect a hint of a smile. Ha, Harry was winning!

"No it's not!" Harry insisted, poking Tom's cheek again. "Weird things happen with magic all the time. You never know. Weird things exist. I'm pretty sure there's some kind of magical creature that can turn people into stone!"

Tom sighed. "Let's just wait for Martha."

Harry pouted, but acquiesced. Thankfully, he didn't have to wait much longer. A very flustered-sounding Martha burst through the door to the courtyard, patting down her clothes.

"There you are, Harry!" Martha called out, almost tripping over her own feet as she closed the door. After she quietly shut it, she turned to Harry, voice playful. "Keep this a secret, will ya?"

Harry was about to give a sound of agreement when next to him, Tom snorted. Harry could hear as Martha instantly shifted herself, facing Tom. "You too, Tom," Martha said coldly.

Tom rolled his eyes. "Of course."

"Now, Harry," Martha said kindly, "let's go get you some clothes. I have some in the storage room that might fit you!" Harry thought she sounded rather suspicious. It was as if after threatening Tom, she completely forgot about his existence at all!

That wasn't right. Tom was a human too! Well, a more awesome human than all these Muggles around, anyway. Muggles just didn't understand it. But still! What exactly had Tom done to deserve this? Harry had noticed that Tom had a tendency to be a bit snarky and rude, not to mention his furious belief in the merits of stealing, but nevertheless! Harry was going to show Martha that Tom wasn't that bad. Maybe she would be nicer to him if she saw how nice Tom actually was? It seemed to work remarkably well on Alyssa.

"Okay," Harry said evenly, resolving to make things right. "Can Tom come too?"

Martha was quiet for a few seconds. "Are you sure?" she asked faintly.

"Of course!" Harry said innocently.

"Well," Martha said. "Then follow me."

Tom started pulling Harry forward, making Harry sigh a little. Martha completely forgot that he couldn't see her. The negligence was astounding. Harry was sure that if his parents were still around, they'd actually make an attempt to actually care! Much like Tom was doing, actually.

Tom led Harry down a few hallways and up a flight of stairs. Harry thought that he could remember where they were. They were close to where Mrs. Cole's office was. He was getting better at orienting himself inside the orphanage, which was good. He couldn't always rely on Tom to take him places. Tom might not always be around!

That thought made Harry feel a little cold. Of course he will be around, Harry reminded himself. Where would he go? His mind didn't provide any answer to that. A chill raced down Harry's spine faster than a Cooling Charm would have.

Harry clutched Tom's arm a little harder. He thought he heard Tom make a sound of surprise, but when he heard no other reaction, Harry continued holding onto Tom's arms tightly.

He wasn't sure exactly what was going on. He'd only known Tom for a little while, but already the idea of being without Tom scared him. Harry had already realized that Tom was the only reason that Harry was staying in this particular orphanage, as it didn't have any redeeming qualities aside from Tom's presence. Harry was sure that he could hide just as easily from mean people trying to give him new family in a different orphanage. He would just have to find another policeman and repeat his story.

Suddenly, Harry froze. Tom continued on, stumbling a little bit when Harry stood immovably.

"Harry?" Tom whispered, pulling at Harry's arm. "What's wrong?"

Harry shook his head, staring numbly forward. He registered that he was moving forward again, but he ignored that little detail.

Hadn't he just thought about Tom being like a sibling, while they were eating lunch? How was that any different from getting new parents. Of course, Tom wasn't exactly forced on him, but still! He was a replacement family. And that was unacceptable. Harry's parents, although dead, were his only real family. He couldn't, he absolutely couldn't replace them!

That would be like admitting that they had been useless.

He couldn't do it.

Harry filled himself with steely resolve. Tom was great. He wasn't going to be letting go of Tom soon. But he would never think of Tom as his family. That thought would be destroyed if it ever came up. His real family, his dead family, would be the only one. Tom could just be a really good best friend. Yes, that was it.

Harry felt a little lighter.

Coincidentally, after Harry's big realization and resolution, Harry found that they had reached their destination.

"In here, Harry!" Martha said cheerfully, though Harry could detect a note of strain in her voice. She was purposely ignoring Tom's presence again. Harry sighed a little.

"Okay, Martha!" Harry said with false cheer. Tom pulled him through a doorway, his magic flickering a little angrily again. Harry watched, bemused, as Tom's magic stretched pretty far out, flooding the whole entire room.

Blue threads, flickering green on occasion, spread everywhere, passing through all sorts of objects. Harry found that he could actually see the room! It was hard to tell, exactly, but the magic seemed to stay mostly in the air, which allowed Harry to somewhat see the shapes of objects which the magic didn't seem inclined to force itself through.

The room was rather large, and it was filled with a bunch of boxes. Harry even noticed a woman's shape, standing with a box in hand. Martha was chubbier than Harry had imagined her. Interesting. The blue magic continued dancing around the room, spreading in a way that Harry could almost say felt curious. It was as if it was searching for something. Suddenly, however, the magic snapped back to Tom.

Harry suppressed a sigh of disappointment. Maybe Tom could repeat that?

"Okay, Harry, come over here and try on this shirt," Martha said.

Tom huffed and let go of Harry. He marched forward and collected the shirt that Martha had been offering, turning back and handing it to Harry. Harry murmured a thank you as he pulled it on over his borrowed shirt. Meanwhile, Martha was being nasty to Tom again.

"Why did you do that, Tom? Harry's perfectly capable of getting it himself!" Martha sounded a little irritated.

"I thought it would be faster for me to get it instead of having Harry trip over half the boxes in here getting to you!" Tom sounded a little mad. Oh dear.

"Just because he's blind doesn't mean that he can get everything easy in life, Tom," Martha said, sounding as if she fancied herself great and knowledgeable.

"Doesn't mean you have to make things hard on purpose!" Tom said, almost shouting. Tom stomped in front of Harry, looking at him carefully. After a few seconds, Tom shook his head. "Take that off. It looks even worse than the shirt I gave you."

Harry giggled a little bit, but he complied. He pulled the shirt off and handed it to Tom. Tom turned back to Martha.

"I'm going to pick out his clothes."

Harry watched Tom, bemused. That was rather commanding of Tom. Apparently, Martha thought similarly.

"Boy, I work here. I will give him his clothes."

"Your taste is gross." Harry found himself giggling again. Tom didn't seem like the kind of person to actually use the word 'gross.'

"Boy…"

"Martha…"

"You have five seconds to cut that impudent tone, boy."

"You have five seconds to let me save Harry from being dressed like a girl."

Tom and Martha continued to argue. Harry found that a little funny. Tom was at least five times younger than Martha! But they were both really very distracted.

Harry decided that he would pick his own clothes, both of them be damned.

Okay, maybe Tom be damned a little bit less. He was his friend after all. Oh, wait. Sorry mom, I forgot about not saying bad words like that.

Harry felt around with his foot for the nearest box. Hitting it lightly with the tip of his foot, he carefully felt down for it and stuck his hand inside. Feeling a rather scratchy cloth, Harry withdrew his hand. He moved over a little bit to another box. When he put his hand inside, he met a very nice, soft kind of material. Finding that a good omen, he pulled out the first article of clothing and pulled it on.

A coat! It was a little bit large, but that was alright. Harry was planning to grow taller, anyway. He pulled it off and hung it on his arm.

In this manner, Harry finished searching through several boxes by the time that Martha and Tom noticed that he wasn't just waiting for them to finish their silly argument.

Harry noted that when Tom was truly blindsided, his facial expression greatly resembled that of a house elf. Who knew that Tom could open his eyes so wide? Once again, Harry found himself stifling a giggle.

"Harry," Martha said reprimandingly, "what are you doing?"

"Getting clothes," Harry replied, snickering. "I found a coat and two shirts!"

Harry lifted the clothes he had hung on his arm and proudly displayed them in Tom's direction. "What do you think, Tom?"

Tom just stared at Harry for a few seconds. Then, he said, as if nothing was wrong, "I like the green one."

Tom walked over to Harry and grabbed one of the shirts, looking over it carefully. Harry noticed that Tom himself was trying to hold back a giggle. Or perhaps a cackle. Harry wasn't really sure about Tom's laughing habits yet. He wouldn't put it past him to cackle.

"What is it?" Harry asked, a little annoyed. "Is it...girly?"

Tom stared at him, face impassive, before calmly saying, "it's pink with horses on it." Harry wasn't fooled. Tom's lips were twitching.

"Not that one, then," Harry said, turning back to the box he had been rifling through. "Help me find some more."

As Tom walked over to help Harry search, Martha sighed. "Harry, you can have three shirts, two pairs of trousers, one pair of boots and one pair of trainers, and three pairs of socks and underwear."

With that, Harry listened to Martha leave the room. Harry turned to Tom excitedly. "You won the argument, then?"

Tom lifted his chin a little higher before replying, "of course I won. Superior intelligence always wins."

"But Martha's older?" Harry questioned, pulling on a shirt that felt soft, if rather itchy. "How does this look?"

"Not good. Take it off," Tom instructed, before adopting a thoughtful look as he picked through a box of either gloves or socks; Harry couldn't tell. "Not all people are created equal," Tom finally said.

"What do you mean by that?" Harry asked. "I was always told to listen to people older than me."

Tom looked faintly irritated. "You listen to people too much, Harry."

"Well, was I just supposed to ignore everyone?"

"Of course not," Tom said. "But not everything they tell you is right. But back to what I was saying before." Tom thrust another shirt into Harry's arms. "Try that one on; I think it would look good."

"Okay," Harry said, absently pulling it on. "How is it?"

"Passable," Tom decided after looking at Harry carefully. "Green, blue, and black are definitely your colors. Maybe grey."

"Okay," Harry said, pulling it off and hanging it on his arm. "So?"

"Well," Tom said, "we have magic."

"Yeah, so?" Harry said. "I was always told that muggles weren't any less, though."

"That makes no sense!" Tom insisted. "We have the ability to make magic happen; to break the laws of the universe! You told me all the things we can do. What can muggles to do compare? We are obviously better somehow if we have this magic that they do not."

"We're all people…" Harry said uncomfortably.

"Better people. You know how we talk better than the other kids our age here?"

"Huh?" Harry said. "What do you mean?"

"Haven't you noticed that everyone you really talked to was older than you? Alyssa was three years older. Harry," Tom said, stepping closer. "We're smarter. We're better!"

Harry watched uneasily as Tom's magic began swirling around him again, blue threads glinting. He nervously ran his hands along the weave of the coat on his arm. Tom noticed that, face morphing from joy to one of suspicion.

"Why are you nervous?" Tom asked.

"I'm not!" Harry quickly defended.

"Liar," Tom said. "Tell me."

"I'm not lying!" Harry denied. Tom's face grew a little angry. "Tell me."

Something was different. As Tom said that, part of the whirling threads stripped away from the mass storming around Tom, and went through Harry. It felt a little cold. And Harry was suddenly filled with the strong, unexplainable, untamable urge to tell Tom everything.

"Stop that!" Harry cried, stepping back. He tripped over a box behind him, falling painfully onto a another box.

The storm of magic slowed a little, and the threads retreated.

"Stop what?" Tom was watching Harry with an unexplainable look on his face.

"You- you just- you just!" Harry sputtered.

"What? What is it?" Tom was looking a little bit afraid now.

Harry suddenly remembered that Tom was newer to the whole magic thing than Harry was himself. He had to tell Tom. Tom probably did it on accident. He would understand. Tom was his friend.

"Y-your magic, Tom. You were talking about being better and it started moving. Moving fast! And swirling around you in a circle! And then when you kept telling me to tell you, some of your magic hit me in the head and I swear it made me feel something weird."

"Feel what?" Tom asked hungrily.

"I felt like I had to tell you everything. And it was really scary and really weird and I wasn't sure if you did it on purpose or not but I didn't like it and please tell me that you didn't, you didn't do it on purpose!" Harry rushed out in a single breath.

"I...think I've done it before," Tom said really quickly. "But this time was an accident, I swear!"

"Really?" Harry asked, watching Tom's face. But Tom looked sincere.

"Really."

"Wow…" Harry said. "You actually did real magic, then!"

Tom's face lit up. "I did? This was magic?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I think so."

"Do...do you think I might be able to replicate it?" Tom asked. "Do it on command. You said that we can do accidental magic but...is it possible to control it?"

"I don't know," Harry said, thinking. "But you were really happy when your magic started moving. And I guess you really wanted to know what I was nervous about."

"So feeling something strongly can help you do magic?" Tom asked.

"Maybe. But that just made your magic swirl."

"So it was wanting to know that made it happen?"

"Probably," Harry admitted.

"That makes it easy. I'll try it!" Tom grabbed one of the shirts Harry had chosen for himself. He put it on top of a box and started staring at it.

He kept staring.

Harry waited for a few minutes, but no matter how much Tom scrunched up his face, nothing happened. His magic was back to normal.

"Let me try?" Harry asked. He walked over to the box and felt around for the shirt. Keeping one hand on it, he began to think really hard about making it fly.

Fly! Fly! No matter how hard Harry yelled it inside his head, nothing really happened.

"Darn it," Harry said. "I was so sure it would work."

"Me too," Tom said, turning around to look at another box. He took a moment to shoot a glare at the shirt.

Harry froze as Tom's magic swept out in patterns from under his skin, threads wild and lashing, until they hit the shirt. He saw as the lines laid themselves along the shirt, and he saw how the threads started threading themselves together at a furious pace. In the blink of an eye, the threads snapped back to Tom's form, and Harry thought that he could, for a second, feel some heat on the front of his knees.

"What was that?" Harry whispered. "Tom...your magic…"

Tom was turning toward him. His face was alight with discovery.

"Harry, I think I know how to do magic."

Harry stared back at him, grinning widely, before he suddenly panicked.

"Wait...my shirt!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will start listing the music I listen to as I write each chapter (in the event that I do). They're not meant to really say anything; they may simply give you a better idea of my mood.
> 
> I am looking for a beta reader; an experienced one, preferably. I am fairly good with grammar and syntax, but someone who wouldn't mind checking it over and perhaps telling me when something is confusing would be very beneficial.
> 
> I thought it would be prudent to mention that I already have an idea for an ending. As such, I am now 500% more likely to actually finish this.
> 
> Additionally, I would like to chat with some of my readers to get their opinions on it so far. If you wouldn't mind doing that, drop me a review saying so and I'll reply over PM!Also, out of curiosity, does my writing seem anything like someone who is writing English as a second language? I'm curious, as I've been told that occasionally my sentence structure can get rather eccentric.
> 
> Apologies for such long ending notes; I had a lot to say.


	5. Harry Gains a Crup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is exactly as this title of this chapter is.

_Written while listening to Les amours dévouées - Cœur de Pirate._

* * *

March 30, 1933

After a few months, Harry had somewhat settled into life at the orphanage. He found that if he excused Alyssa for perhaps having too much interest in gossip, she was rather tolerable to talk to. He hesitantly labeled her under the category of 'friend,' something that he made sure Tom didn't hear about. Tom could be funny about some things.

Tom was a little upset that Harry was now included in the tormenting by a gang of mostly older kids, led by a rather large boy named Billy Stubbs, who always seemed to have a nasty cough. Tom often commented that it was a pity he had a chronic cold, because the coughs sounded much like Billy was choking. Harry thought that Tom was a little bit weird about that, but he had to agree.

The gang was positively brutal. So mean! Harry didn't understand it. He didn't really take the warning he had received from John and his friend (which he later found out was called Robert) seriously. But he honestly should have. He would have been better prepared.

Harry found out with dismay that it was possible to have bruises on top of bruises.

Tom was always really fierce when they were attacked. Despite being a lot smaller than everyone (except Harry), he did a lot of damage. Harry always came out of the fights feeling a little vindicated; they weren't the only ones sporting injuries of some sort. Of course, the injuries they managed to land on the older boys were minimal, but it gave a certain satisfaction anyway.

What really made it bearable was the knowledge that they were slowly, ever so slowly, mastering their magic.

With Harry's special sight (Harry seriously needed to think of a cool name for it) they had a very large advantage. Harry was a little jealous when Tom seemed to figure out how to control his magic faster. Of course, Tom's control wasn't perfect, and something only happened half the time, but that was still a lot more than Harry could manage. When Harry tried really hard, he could make something happen maybe one time out of five.

Tom reassured him that it was only natural that he get it faster. Harry always responded with a pillow to Tom's face.

But still, it was progress. Tom had a plan that when they could control their magic reliably, they would be able to win more fights (as long as they used it carefully, Harry reluctantly agreed). Tom spent a whole evening muttering under his breath as he figured out a plan of attack. Harry was really irritated because Tom's mutters weren't clear enough for him to hear properly, but eventually, with enough pestering, he managed to make Tom disclose the plan.

When the others tried to punch them, they would slowly and covertly slow their fists until they made less damage. Harry proposed that they could also try speeding themselves up somehow. Harry didn't really know everything that magic could do because most of the things that he remembered were cleaning charms that his mum had employed in the kitchen, but he hypothesized that if it was magic, surely anything was possible? Tom agreed with him, and that was that.

Despite their rather grandiose plans and devout training...there was still the issue of the magic not working properly.

Today, Tom was more frustrated than usual.

"This is ridiculous," Tom huffed, sitting with his back against the headboard of the bed that they still shared. One day, Harry's cot had been simply gone, but Tom had said that he couldn't find a replacement yet. Harry didn't mind sharing, though. It was really cold at night, and this way, they had twice as many blankets.

"It's not," Harry insisted. "Nobody I ever heard of does magic without wands except for kids like us, and it's called accidental magic for a reason." He was sitting on the floor by Tom, leaning with his head under the window. The chill coming from the top of the window was a little irritating, but the weak sunlight coming through the glass that Tom painstakingly cleaned every week was worth it.

They sat quietly together, taking a break from their attempts at magic. Harry enjoyed the warm feeling of the sun on his hair, reminded of happier times and a warm house and his family. Tom seemed to be drifting off in thought, though, and after an undefinable period of time, he shifted a little and spoke.

"I...I feel like I'm different, Harry," Tom said, staring at the ceiling. "You know?"

"No, I don't know. Why?" Harry asked, playing with an old thread of his shirt, knotting it and pulling it apart again and again.

"Just a feeling," Tom confessed. "I just...I always thought I was different from everyone."

Harry scrutinized Tom. He was looking so absently at the ceiling that Harry had a feeling that Tom was saying more truth than he normally would.

"You are different from everyone, though," Harry said. What exactly was Tom talking about? He was a wizard, everyone he knew before Harry was a Muggle. Of course he was different.

"I...meant more different."

Harry looked at Tom. "I haven't the foggiest idea of what you're talking about."

Tom sighed, shooting Harry a look. "Forget I said anything."

"No!" Harry said. "Tell me. I promise I'll listen."

Tom sat in silence for a few minutes as Harry endeavoured to turn his whole thread into an unbroken string of knots. It was almost a success! As Harry finished tying the last knot in a perfect row of knots, Tom cleared his throat. Then, finally, Tom spoke again.

"I always thought I was different. I just don't understand some things."

"What things?" Harry asked. Tom was being unusually reticent today.

"Emotions," Tom said. "They don't make sense."

Harry gave Tom a look. "What do you mean? Of course they make sense. You're happy, you're happy. You're sad, that means you're sad."

"That's a horrible explanation," Tom said, just a bit indignantly. He groaned and slid down his headboard, proper posture forgotten. Harry smiled a little. He couldn't figure out why Tom constantly insisted on being so proper. He would think Tom fancied himself an uppity pureblood if not for the fact that Tom had been like that from the first moment Harry met him.

"I know," Harry said cheerily. "I just don't understand why you're saying they don't make sense."

"I just…" Tom said, mumbling, "don't feel some of them."

"Nonsense!" Harry said. "Everyone feels emotions, right?"

"I don't," Tom said. "At least, I don't think so. Or maybe not as strong?"

Harry was silent for a few seconds. "Wait...what?"

"I'm serious." Tom was looking pointedly away from Harry.

Harry suddenly realized that it was one of the few times where Tom was actually telling him something very secret and true about himself. Tom was always reserved, but here he was coming right out and telling Harry something like this! Harry felt a little happy inside. That meant that Tom was trusting him! Friends tell each other secrets.

Harry suddenly flashed back to the playdates his parents had arranged for him. Nobody had ever really shared secrets like this before. Harry suddenly felt really determined to do something. He wasn't sure what, but he would do something friend-like.

"Then," Harry said, running his finger along his thread proudly, "I'll help you feel some. I'll show you what they're like! Super strong emotions!" Harry glanced at Tom, grinning.

Tom raised his eyebrows. "Really."

"Yeah!" Harry said. "It's not that hard, I think."

"If you say so," Tom said.

"Of course. You'll understand them in no time."

"Want to bet?"

"Of course! I'll win."

"Alright. If I win," Tom said, tapping his chin with a long finger, "you have to give me your monthly allowance."

"Aw, Tom, that's harsh!" Harry complained. "But fine. But if I win, then you have to give me yours!"

"Deal," Tom said, reaching out a hand. Harry took it, shaking it firmly. "Deal."

With that, the two boys returned to their thoughts and enjoying the weak sunlight.

* * *

April 11, 1933

"Can you feel the magic? It's right here," Harry said, pointing. Tom gave him an exasperated look.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to be feeling."

"Magic?" Harry said unconfidently. "It's magic. It has to feel like something, right?"

"Not true," Tom said. "Yes, magic is definitely a force of some kind, but that doesn't mean it's something you can touch and feel just like that!"

Harry scowled. "I just have a feeling you're supposed to feel something."

"Fine," Tom said, shooting Harry a glare without any of the malice that he usually bestowed on the other orphans. Tom huffed a little, sticking his hand out. Harry smiled encouragingly, grabbing it and slowly moving it toward a thick thread of Tom's magic that seemed to almost pulse as if alive. Tom's hand grew closer, closer, and closer...and nothing.

Tom sighed. Harry frowned. "I swear, you should feel something."

"I don't understand why you're so insistent on this, Harry," Tom complained. "Can't we just read?"

"No," Harry said firmly. "We'll read after we do this a few more times, okay?"

Tom sighed again, but kept his hand out. Harry had been annoying Tom about feeling magic for over a week now. Harry knew he was really pushing Tom's patience with this, but he had some strong, itchy feeling inside him that pushed him to try over and over again. It was a little nagging thought in the back of his mind that kept telling him to try and try, because something was supposed to happen. Harry wasn't sure what exactly, but he gave in to his suspicious suspicions (wasn't that an odd thought?).

Harry pulled Tom's hand back a little again, letting it hang in the air for a little while. Then, Harry slowly began drawing Tom's hand closer to that thick blue rope of magic that, for some strange reason, had a tendency to detach from Tom's body around his left hand and wave around to an invisible breeze, or perhaps some tune that nobody could hear. He had to feel something! Suddenly, Harry became highly irritated. Tom should feel something, damn it! As Harry brought Tom's hand as close as he could bring it to the magic one more time, he saw a thin tendril of his dark green magic snake out from his body toward Tom. Harry stared as that thin tendril slipped into Tom's body of magic, curling around. He couldn't think of a reason for it to do that, especially without his conscious consent or direction.

"Tom?" Harry asked, holding Tom's hand in place. "Tom? Are you feeling something?"

"I'm not sure," Tom said slowly before stiffly inclining his head up until he was staring at the ceiling, body tense. "What did you just do do?" His voice sounded a little more panicked now.

Harry chuckled uncertainly, staring wide-eyed at his magic. "Uh...I don't really know."

"Harry," Tom said, eyes wide. "I think I did feel something. What just happened?"

"Uh…" Harry started, "my magic went into you?" Harry dropped Tom's hand and poked Tom's chest right where the green tendril of his magic went into it. Tom jerked back. Harry watched curiously as his magic continued to unspool out of his body, reluctant to break the connection.

"What do you mean?" Tom asked, voice high-pitched. He looked down at himself before looking at Harry.

"A little bit of my magic just...decided to go into you?" Harry said. "I don't know what it's doing."

"Well," Tom said, "that's really weird."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Harry said. "Wait a second...it's moving!"

Tom grabbed onto Harry's arm. "How is it moving?" he demanded harshly. "Get it out!"

"I don't know how!" Harry cried, yanking his arm out of Tom's grip. "It's just coiling itself inside you?"

Harry and Tom stood for a few moments, staring at each other. Tom's face was horrified. Harry had to bite down the urge to let loose an inappropriate snicker.

"You know…" Tom said, expression turning slightly pensive, "it feels warm. Whatever you're doing."

"Really?" Harry asked. "I wonder what my magic is doing. I didn't try to make it do anything, I swear."

"I guess we wait?" Tom supplied, walking over to their bed and throwing himself on it.

"Yeah," Harry said, following him.

* * *

Tom wasn't sure how to describe this odd feeling in his chest. It felt warm, but at the same time, it felt a little cold. But that cold was receding, thankfully. He tried to feel irritated at Harry for somehow performing some weird magic on him, but he knew that Harry had been having trouble even getting his magic to do things voluntarily. The chances that Harry's magic would do something so suspicious without his knowledge were little.

But what could it be? Numerous ideas flitted through Tom's head. None of them seemed particularly likely. He sighed, folding his arms under his head, turning himself to watch Harry. Harry was staring at his chest, probably observing the magic.

Tom thought that Harry's talent was a little invasive, if useful. Just the thought that Harry could almost see inside someone (even if he could only see magic) seemed a bit formidable. But Tom was used to the idea now. He had to admit that Harry's definite answers on whether he had just performed magic or not were helpful. And anyway, he guessed that it would be terrible to be blind without any advantages.

Although Harry's little skill wasn't very helpful around the orphanage.

There simply wasn't enough magic around for him to see anything but Tom. A part of Tom felt immensely pleased that Harry could only see him, not everyone else. Harry was his best friend, after all. But then Tom tried to beat it down because he had a feeling that Harry wouldn't appreciate that thought too much.

His lack of normal sight made Harry such a target, though. Tom wasn't sure that Harry had realized exactly how many attacks Tom had had to deflect from him in their daily brawls with Billy's gang. Harry fought pretty well by sound alone, but he had a tendency to forget about things going on behind him. Tom always had to cover for him by standing back to back.

Harry's presence had increased the frequency of the attacks. Tom didn't want to just blame it on one reason, but that was the only thing he could think of. Before Harry arrived, he would get beat up maybe three times a week. Once Harry arrived, it was a daily occurrence.

Tom didn't see the logic in that. To attack more often when the amount of victims who fight back was doubled? Maybe they were seen as a challenge. Or maybe they just wanted to hurt the freaks.

Harry hadn't noticed, but he was already dubbed a fellow "freak." Tom was filled with irrational surges of fury when he heard the other children whispering it as they walked by. Harry had a tendency to focus on one thing to the exclusion of his surroundings. Although the deal was certainly sweetened a little bit when the focus of Harry's exclusive attention was Tom, as it was more often than not.

Ah, the daily struggles of two magical orphans, one with something of a disability.

Tom was snapped out of his thoughts when the faint warmth, which had been growing steadily stronger as he reminisced, suddenly flared to a burning heat. It felt like he was being burned suddenly from the inside out. The blazing heat began to spread from his chest, going to his neck, to his arms, to his legs...Tom felt himself going a little bit faint from the intense discomfort. Tom thought he felt Harry grab onto his arms. He noted absently that he was jerking violently.

As suddenly as it had began, the burning receded after it reached his fingertips. All that was left was a curious coolness, as if the inside of his body had been lightly brushed with ice before it could be properly felt. Harry was saying something. Tom brought himself out of his mind with force.

"What?" Tom slurred. A part of him felt a little horrified with how...not-together he sounded.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked, sounding terrified. "You were jerking around…"

"I think so," Tom said, lifting an arm to his forehead. "I just feel…wait."

"What is it?" Harry looked confused.

"Can you taste it? It smells like winter."

"What?" Harry gave Tom such a baffled look that Tom had to suppress the urge to make fun of him for it.

"Exactly what I said, dummy." Tom inhaled through his mouth, then his nose. It was true. It seemed like the room was laced with a faint perfume of a biting, yet refreshing scent that just smelled like winter to Tom.

Tom sat up carefully. As he did that, he tensed. The smell of winter was stronger. Or the taste. He wasn't sure. Somehow, the two senses seemed to blur together more than usual.

Cautiously, Tom leaned forward. And more forward. Until he was staring right into Harry's eyes.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked nervously.

Tom carefully inhaled through his mouth. Winter. Harry was the source, he was sure of it.

"It's you," Tom said, surprised. "You smell like winter. You taste like it too."

"What do you mean? Taste? Smell?"

"That's just what it feels like," Tom said. It was glorious. The smell was delightful and fresh and it evoked memories of days where he had sat contentedly under a tree plodding through a book definitely too difficult from him as an icy wind bit at his skin.

"Well," Harry said, "I think you need to know something."

"What is it?" Tom asked, eyes slipping shut as he continued enjoying the winter scent.

"My magic did something. It looked almost like there was a flower inside you? And then my magic was looping around it and then suddenly the flower-thingy burst open and then you started shaking and now you're talking about smelling winter. You do realize it's still kinda-winter right now?" Harry was staring at Tom suspiciously.

Tom stared back. Harry's magic had opened something in him? And now he could smell winter from Harry? Maybe it was a hidden talent?

"That's weird," Tom said. "Maybe I suddenly gained a cool talent too!"

Harry laughed a little bit. "That would be cool. So you say I smell like winter? Do you smell something weird from yourself?"

Tom raised his eyebrows. He hadn't thought of that. So, he pulled his arm to his nose and breathed in very deeply. After a few seconds contemplation, he thought he could sense something. There! Woven amongst the tendrils of winter, he could smell something salty. If he could give it a name, he would say it was the smell of the sea.

"I think I smell the sea," Tom said, deliberating.

"Oh, that's funny!" Harry suddenly exclaimed. "I always thought that your magic looked sorta like water with the blueness and the little bits of green in it."

"Do you think...that I can smell magic now?" Tom asked.

Harry looked at him with a blank face for a few seconds before doubling over, snickering. "That's so ridiculous!" Harry stuttered between laughs.

Tom frowned at Harry. "Thanks a lot. I thought I gained a cool skill and now you're laughing at me!"

"Sorry," Harry apologized, "but seriously. Smelling magic. Or tasting it. Can't you see how funny that is?"

Tom thought about it for a moment. When he thought about it, then yes, it might have been just a little funny. Only a little.

"Oh!" Harry said, straightening with a jump. "You can be my crup!"

"What?" Tom asked. It sounded like another one of those things that Harry knew from the wizarding world that he was woefully ignorant of.

"Crups are like dogs!" Harry said cheerfully. "We can pretend you're a crup and then I can pretend to be the owner!"

Tom looked at Harry with disdain. "Why would I want to pretend to be a dog?"

"Because it's fun!" Harry said. "Don't you ever pretend to be something you're not?"

"Not really," Tom said. "I'm fine being me."

"But Tom!" Harry said. "Come on! Play with me. Just for a little bit! Then you can read whatever book you want and I won't complain that it's boring and I won't ask you to slow down and I'll stop asking what those fancy long words mean-"

Tom covered Harry's mouth with his hand and sighed. "Okay. Just once, though."

Harry beamed under his hand, jumping away and spinning. "Yes!"

"Just once!" Tom reminded, mouth slipping into a smile almost without his notice.


	6. The Birthday Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry convinces Tom to follow the Birthday Rules...and petty thievery for the sake of Harry's sweet tooth.

_Written while listening to Fitz and the Tantrums- Fools Gold._

* * *

July 31, 1933

"Tom! Please!"

Tom sighed. It seemed that today was not his lucky day. Of course, it wasn't really his day. It was Harry's birthday, and Harry was turning into a right menace.

From the very morning, Harry had been pestering him about "birthday rights." Somewhere, Harry had come into the idea that on one's birthday, they were supposed to get everything they wanted. Tom tried to educate Harry about how it was utterly unrealistic to get everything one wanted, even if for a day, but Harry resolutely stated that it was birthday law.

Tom suspected that he was going to have to find a way to dispose of Alyssa Harkins before she put even more inane ideas into Harry's head.

This led Tom into his present situation. It was a fine morning, surprisingly cool for midsummer, and Harry had been pestering him about going out and playing all day. The only other alternative that Tom managed to wheedle out was perhaps a few hours of reading. But Tom had forgotten to stipulate who got to choose the reading material.

So, Tom was stuck with the choice between reading The Cat Who Went to Heaven, and Emil and the Detectives.

Both were children's books.

Tom briefly lamented Harry's young age. For surely, if Harry were Tom's old age - a few months was definitely a long time - he would not be insisting on reading children's books. Obviously.

A little nagging part of Tom's mind insisted that he was wrong, but Tom, quite used to pushing down some part of his mind at one point or another, stifled it very quickly.

"But why?" Tom whined. "They're not even that interesting."

Harry gave him a shifty look. "How do you know they're not interesting if you've never read them, huh?"

Tom opened his mouth, but he failed to come up with a suitable lie fast enough. Harry's eyes glimmered with satisfaction as he tackled Tom off the bed and onto the floor.

"I'm right!" Harry cheered, lifting his upper body on his elbows, which happened to be digging into Tom's kidneys.

"Get off!" Tom screeched, internally wincing at the volume. Alyssa was no doubt going to investigate, and Tom would probably be forced into suffering the dubious pleasure of her presence. Harry persisted in keeping relatively amicable relations with her. While Tom could appreciate the value of having one of the major gossips in the orphanage on their side, it didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

"No!" Harry said. "Not until you agree to read one of them to me. And to Alyssa, if she comes in after hearing that scream of yours." Harry grinned evilly.

"Fine," Tom sniffed. "I'll read you a blasted baby book. For babies."

"I'd believe that," Harry said, still grinning, "if I didn't see you smile every time you read me a 'baby book'. Admit it. You like them."

"Never!" Tom said, trying to shove Harry off of him. Harry simply dug in his elbows further. Tom gave his rather impressive glare of death towards Harry, but his eyes didn't stop twinkling from his pure evilness in the slightest. Oh well. Tom would eventually perfect that.

"Never what?" a voice called from beyond Harry. Tom scowled. "If I admit I like them, will you make her leave?"

Harry glanced behind him. "Oh, hey Alyssa."

"Hey, Harry," Alyssa said. "Why is Tom on the floor and glaring at you as if he's trying to make your head explode with the force of his mind?"

"Oh," Harry said, leaning on his elbows a little more with a wicked smirk, "he just doesn't want to follow the birthday rules." Tom narrowed his eyes. So it was her, after all, who had put that idea into Harry's head.

Alyssa gasped loudly. "Oh my! That must be fixed immediately!"

"Exactly," Harry said smugly.

Harry and Alyssa had struck up an odd friendship that seemed to revolve mostly around gossip and tormenting Tom. Never mind that Alyssa was three years older and used to be terrified of Tom, and that she was a girl. Everyone knew that boys and girls didn't associate with each other! But Harry liked being himself without a care for how much Tom was irritated by his association with that…Muggle.

Tom had been forced to admit to himself on numerous occasions that while he thought he himself was different from everyone, Harry was no less different. It must be a wizard trait.

"What shall we do?" Alyssa said. "Although it looks like you have everything under control."

"I do," Harry said proudly. "He was just about to admit to me that he...likes 'baby books'," Harry admitted with a faux whisper.

"Oh, really?" Alyssa said. "Do continue."

Tom watched angrily as she perched on their bed, smiling happily. He furrowed his brows a little bit. Maybe he could get his magic to unobtrusively do something evil to her without breaking that "Statue" of Secrecy that Harry was always going on about.

As Tom felt the taste of the sea flood his senses, it was brutally knocked away as Harry backhanded him across the face.

"Harry!" Tom whined, knowing that he deserved it.

"Tom!" Harry called back mockingly. "Come on. Just say it. Then you can read me the first ten pages and then we'll go to pester Mrs. Cole to let us go out into the city for my birthday."

Oh. That was a new addition to the plan. Tom liked going out into the city. For one, he was assigned to watch Harry, something that went without saying, but allowed them a modicum of independence. As Harry was expected to be rather slow, being the "poor little blind child," they were the youngest children to be allowed freedom of movement. Not that Martha was particularly good at chaperoning anyway.

Additionally, venturing into the city allowed them to update their collection of books, and allowed Tom some opportunities to engage in one of his favorite activities...thievery. He thought he was particularly successful, as Harry's attention was almost constantly on him and yet Harry hadn't noticed a single of his steals yet. He wondered where exactly Harry thought all of the new clothing, books, and sweets were coming from…

"Fine," Tom said. "I like baby books. Now get off me."

Harry smiled winningly at Tom, hopping off and offering Tom a hand. Tom patted at his kidneys, sighing gratefully when it seemed like he was mostly intact. He then grabbed on to Harry's arm, pulling himself up. He was tempted to pull Harry back down on the floor with him, but that was surely inadvisable after finally compromising with Harry.

"Alright!" Harry said, throwing himself with perfect aim onto the bed behind him. To Tom's smug amusement, Harry had forgotten about Alyssa's presence.

"Ow!" Alyssa screeched. "Harry!"

"Sorry!" Harry said, sounding completely not sorry at all. Tom snorted. Maybe he hadn't forgotten about her.

"Start reading, crup!" Harry said imperiously, pointing a finger at Tom while inhaling deep enough to swell his chest.

Tom forgot all of his reservations in breaking their tentative truce with that little jab, throwing himself at Harry and tickling him madly. Alyssa growled from underneath them, trying to wiggle out from underneath the wriggling pile of shrieking boys.

A few minutes later, a huffy Alyssa, a panting Harry, and a smug Tom finally settled around the bed, where Tom began reading Emil and the Detectives with his usual dramatic flair.

* * *

Harry sighed happily. This was certainly a very hilarious birthday. Tom's facial expressions were absolutely priceless, and the way that Tom's magic practically hummed its irritation and mirrored Tom's no-doubt devious thoughts was a never-ending source of amusement for Harry. He wondered when Tom would catch on to how well Harry could read him.

Tom still thought that Harry was oblivious about his little habits out in the city. Harry didn't entirely approve, but he did have to admit that Tom's stash of candy was definitely a plus that they wouldn't be able to afford otherwise. Harry had a fondness for nougat and toffee. In fact, as time went on and he continued to joy Tom's illegally obtained goods, he began to think that if the shop owner was so dense that he didn't notice Tom's constant thievery, then he deserved to get stolen from. Tom was so glaringly obvious whenever he made a steal that Harry was considering actually informing Tom about his transparency, lest he be caught. That would put a stop to Tom's endless supply of goodies.

But sacrificing his candy! Not going to happen.

But that was for later. Maybe he could inform Tom today.

Right now, he was just enjoying the sound of Tom's voice reading out loud that funny book about a child detective, of all things, with at least five different voices and tones. Tom might prefer books with actual information, but he was very good at reading what he called 'baby books.' Harry was unsure why exactly Tom thought that only children read books for fun, as he was pretty sure that the laughter Martha occasionally barked out in the playroom, flipping pages, wasn't something that was caused by an encyclopedia, of all things. But he would fight with Tom about it later.

Right now, he was in heaven.

Alyssa was constantly sighing happily to his left. Harry couldn't even find it in himself to poke her in the side with his conveniently located elbow.

Just as Harry was slipping into a pleasant meditative doze that always left him able to recall everything he heard word for word, Tom stopped with a cheery "done!"

"Alyssa, check to make sure he's not lying. That he actually read ten pages."

Tom could be a sneaky bugger.

"Okay," Alyssa said, leaning over Harry. "Yeah, he did read ten pages. No brodie."

"Did you understand the meaning of the story?" Tom asked in a scholarly voice. Harry was pretty sure that he had copied it from Alyssa that one time she was ranting about her teacher being pure evil. No doubt Tom took it as inspiration.

"What meaning?" Harry sighed. "You only read ten pages!"

"Don't take candy from strangers, because then they'll have drugs inside it that will make you sleep and then they will kidnap you and Mrs. Cole will throw a party."

Harry shot a glare at Tom. "Whatever. Let's go and ask Mrs. Cole if we can go outside!"

"Can I come with you? Alyssa said hopefully.

Harry watched as Tom sneered and spitefully said, "no way!"

Possessive twit, Harry thought fondly.

"But Tom!" Harry whined. This would be fun. He bet himself that he could get Tom to agree to bring Alyssa along in three minutes flat. He absently started counting down from...what was it? 180? It was a good thing that they had learned to count a few weeks back from a neutral ten-year old who had lost his allowance in a bet. Harry had to admit that it was terribly useful.

"What?" Tom asked snappishly.

"It's my birthday…"

"Birthday rules!" Alyssa called joyfully.

"But that's only if Harry really wants you to come," Tom said, looking at Harry with a look that almost seemed to plead with him.

"Harry?" Alyssa asked. Harry jumped a little bit when Alyssa laid her hand on his arm. He wasn't expecting that.

"I want Alyssa to come," Harry said firmly. Tom gave him a look of despair, his magic visibly drooping.

"I win!" Alyssa said. Tom sighed and nodded.

Victory, Harry cheered. That was only at 124! Now if only he could master subtraction…

* * *

Tom scanned the street warily, gripping onto Harry's arm tightly. Those automobiles moved with very little regard for pedestrians. The air was muggy and humid, filled with the exhaust fumes of countless cars. The cool summer morning was long gone, disappearing the second they left the more residential part of London. The walk had been rather long, but Tom rather appreciated the distance from the shopping district. They lived just far enough away to breathe relatively easily. It wouldn't do for them to damage their health with dirty air.

A few cars shot by, and Tom could see a lull in the traffic. Knowing that they weren't going to get much of a chance to cross the road for the next few minutes if they didn't take this one, Tom yanked on Harry's arm.

"Harry, now!" Tom said urgently, jumping into the street. Glancing warily back and forth, Tom deemed it safe to cross. Harry followed him quietly, eyes focused on Tom's form. Behind him trailed Alyssa, who had been looking into the window of a shop that sold ugly-looking dolls in dresses that looked more like doilies than respectable fabric. Tom couldn't quite fathom where the attraction in those ruffle-covered monstrosities lay, but he was fine with them distracting Alyssa. Unfortunately, she had heard Tom's command to Harry and was consequently trailing them.

Tom really wished that he could throw her off. But he wasn't making much of a serious attempt at it. Not today. While he was a little bit cynical, he did want to make Harry's birthday very happy. It was his first birthday at the orphanage, after all.

They finished crossing the road, Harry tripping a little on a loose cobblestone. Tom checked him carefully, but he looked fine. That was good; an injured leg would be a major drag to their expedition.

"So where are we now?" asked Harry, smiling brightly.

"Around that candy store you like so much," Tom said, looking at the store in question. It was brightly decorated, the small windows filled with boxes of candy of all kinds. Just from a quick glance, Tom could see that Harry's favorites were in stock. Brilliant.

"Candy?" Alyssa said. "Oh, are you going to buy some?"

Harry looked at her sadly. "No, we need to save up our allowances. Tom used it all last time."

"Oh," Alyssa said, looking pensive. "Well, in that case, maybe I'll buy you some for your birthday!"

If Tom hadn't been watching very carefully, he wouldn't have noticed that tiny twitch of Harry's mouth. For a second, there had been a little pleased smirk on Harry's face.

Oh, clever, Tom lauded Harry mentally. If Tom stole some candy now, they would have twice the haul that Tom usually got. He hoped Harry wouldn't ask where he would get the extra candy, as he had supposedly run out of money.

Well, it wasn't as if Harry had made a point of asking about that before.

They moved into the store, Harry sniffing deeply while Alyssa began darting around excitedly, looking at all the displays. There weren't many people in the store. It was strange, Tom thought. It was a weekend, and this was the only candy store for a rather sizeable area. Maybe it had something to do with the economy. Tom was sure that he had heard something about that in conjunction with an impressively creative string of curses from Martha last week. He made a note to investigate.

Tom led Harry over to a shelf labeled New Arrivals. It was a large box filled with bright-yellow packaged candy.

"The new candy they have looks like the sun exploded, it's so bright yellow," Tom whispered to Harry, picking up a candy and examining the package. It was a chocolate.

"You better steal some," Harry commented casually, fingers rifling through the box.

Tom froze. He whipped his head around to stare at Harry, who continued digging through the box, smirking.

"You thought I didn't know? Do you think you're actually sneaky?" Harry asked, snickering.

"I am!" insisted Tom, quickly glancing around to make sure the owner was still trying to sell Alyssa some new kind of candy. All clear.

Tom quickly palmed the chocolate, then moved his hand around as if to scratch his neck. When he was sure the owner wasn't looking, he quickly let go of the candy, which fell into his shirt. He carefully shifted the shirt, which he had tucked into his trousers before they had left the orphanage. The candy lay flat against his back. He was sure it wasn't visible.

"That was sneaky, you have to admit," Tom said proudly. To his dismay, Harry didn't look impressed.

"Really?" Harry asked. "You can do better. What if someone saw you when the candy was sticking out from your back before you fixed it?"

"You have a better suggestion?" Tom sniffed. "This has been working forever."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "But I've been thinking about this for a while. You really need to change how you do it. It's obvious to me, and I can't even really see the candy, you know?"

"You could've told me earlier," Tom said, offended. And there went his plans of being a world-class pickpocket. How else was he supposed to get them funds for books and decent clothing? And something to sate Harry's sweet tooth?

"I have an idea," Harry said suddenly. "How about I pretend that I'm hurt?"

"No," Tom said. That wouldn't work. If there was really a problem with the economy, there would be no way that the owner would give Harry free candy.

"Why not?"

"Well, nobody's just going to give you candy if you cry."

"That's not what I meant," Harry said, eyes aflame with an emotion that Tom couldn't place. "I meant that I fall, knock over a box, maybe get a candy for my injuries, while you help put most of the box candy back."

"Since when did you get so sneaky?" Tom asked. It wasn't like Harry at all. He was the one who objected to 'borrowing' gloves half a year ago.

"Ever since I realized that I really like toffee and nougat," Harry said with a wistful smile.

Tom wouldn't put it past Harry to completely shift his fledgling set of morals into a path that allowed him to have more sweets. Tom sighed. Harry was so ridiculous. But, Harry would work with him today! Maybe it was something Harry was only willing to do on his birthday. But still. Tom felt terribly excited about it.

"Alright!" Tom said, fighting down the urge to make his glee known. "How are we going to make this work?"

* * *

Harry finished going over the plan with Tom. To his amusement, from what he could hear, Alyssa was being terribly annoying. The owner kept telling her about this and that candy, but she rejected them all because she was buying special candy for a special friend on a special day.

Harry was really excited to try whatever candy Alyssa deemed special enough.

Having spent about five minutes loitering near the entrance, Harry decided it was time to initiate their plan, lest the owner became suspicious. He turned toward Tom, a scowl firmly planted on his face.

"I don't need you to lead me around everywhere!" Harry said, voice high-pitched. "I'm old enough to move around on my own!"

"No you're not!" insisted Tom, grabbing onto Harry's arm. "You know it's dangerous for you to move by yourself!"

"It's not dangerous!" Harry cried, faking a struggle with Tom's arm. After a few seconds of fake struggling, he 'broke' free of Tom's grip.

"I want to look at candy by myself!" Harry said, turning angrily, stomping forward. He wondered if the shop owner had started paying attention to their little spat yet. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see strands of blue magic frolicking around him, twisting in amusement. Of course Tom would enjoy this. He had a taste for acting, especially if there was something to gain.

"Harry!" Tom said sharply, grabbing onto the back of Harry's shirt.

"Let go!" Harry said, yanking himself forward after feeling Tom grab his collar. That was the signal that Harry had strode far enough to crash into a stand with maximum destruction. Stumbling forward, Harry yelped as his knees impacted with something hard. He carefully braced his hands as he fell forward with a crash and the crinkling of numerous candy wrappers.

"Harry!" yelled Tom with fake worry, kneeling down beside him. "What did I tell you?"

"Harry?" asked Alyssa. "Are you okay?" She sounded a little worried.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Harry said, sitting up with a wince. Despite his best efforts, he had banged his forearm some.

"Son, are you alright?" a kindly voice asked. Harry looked up in the direction of the voice. It sounded slightly creaky, like the second step on the third floor staircase back in the orphanage. It also sounded a little breathy, as if the owner of the voice had trouble catching their breath. It painted an interesting mental image for Harry. Was this person old? Maybe they were...sixty! Harry shuddered. Old people creeped Harry out, something that Tom found really hilarious.

"My arm hurts," Harry said, faking a whimper. He rubbed at his arm, wondering vaguely if it would bruise. His magic deemed the injury insignificant; Harry couldn't even see a little bit of magic tasting the area. How rude. He would appreciate the loss of the ache. What was the point of having fairly accelerated healing (something that Tom kept trying to find the answer to in those oblivious Muggle-written books) if it only worked whenever it felt like it? Harry sighed.

"Oh, dearie! Here, have a lolly. It'll make the pain go away."

Harry waited a few seconds. The owner hadn't moved away, and he was just standing there. Harry saw Tom move from the corner of his eye. Tom moved forward and crouched a little, covering the area around his face with a cupped hand. Despite his attempts at having a 'private' conversation, Harry could hear it perfectly clearly.

"Sir, he's blind. You have to hand it to him." Tom's voice had just the right amount of apology and chastisement. Harry had to fight down the urge to laugh. Not now, not now. Later, Harry!

"Oh…," the owner said, sounding unsure. "Here you go, son."

Harry accepted the lollipop with a smile. "Help me up, Tom?" he asked, voice saccharine. "Of course," Tom replied, grabbing onto Harry's extended hand and pulling him up into a hug. Harry suppressed a little gasp as Tom's happy, satisfied magic danced around him, tickling him slightly.

"How much did you get?" Harry whispered into Tom's ear.

"It's a birthday surprise," Tom whispered back smugly. "Can we do this again?"

"Maybe," Harry said noncommittally. "I'm sorry for making a mess, sir," Harry said, arranging his face into a blank expression and purposely training his eyes two feet to the left of the owner. Might as well play up the charade while at it. He separated from Tom, offering his hand. "I'll stay near you," Harry muttered.

"Good," Tom said, turning a little. "Alyssa, Harry and I are going to go to the park. Meet us there when you're done."

"Okay," Alyssa said. "You sure you're fine, Harry?"

"Yes," Harry said, shuffling his feet. He was impatient to get to the park to see the no-doubt large stash that Tom managed to sneak. He was unsure where exactly Tom had hidden it; he didn't feel any lumps in Tom's shirt during that hug except for that one chocolate from before.

"Let's go," Tom said, turning to the exit and starting to pull Harry out of the store. "Thank you, mister!"

"Come back again, lads!" the creaky voice replied.

Harry and Tom left the store wearing identical, slightly evil grins.

 

Note: The books The Cat Who Went to Heaven and Emil and the Detectives were real, period books published in 1930 and 1929, respectively.

Additionally, the word "brodie" meant 'a mistake' in 1930s slang, as far as I can tell.

 

Woo, I got this chapter out at a fairly decent clip! This fic is turning out to be a bit research heavy, but I find that I don't particularly mind. It's interesting learning about pre-war Britain. 

Right now, Tom and Harry are just being silly children. They are currently both six. I find that it's so hard to keep them from having silly interactions. But eventually, it'll get more serious as they get older and certain events draw nearer. 

I want to know if anyone has an idea where the plot is going to be going; I've given a few hints! Also, the lack of searching for Harry isn't a plothole; I have plans!

As always, reviews are welcome.


	7. Education Stings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I suggest you read the chapter notes for warnings...

_Written listening to Imagine Dragons- Who We Are._

_This song in particular strongly influenced this chapter._

***

**August 5, 1933**

"Listen up, everyone!" called Martha. She had assembled all of the six-year-olds in the playroom, not telling anyone anything more than that she had to make an announcement. They all sat sprawled around the room. Tom was commandeering an old, sturdy dollhouse as a seat while Harry sat on the floor next to him, studying his hands with an interested expression. Must be looking at his magic, Tom thought, fidgeting impatiently. They had been waiting for over fifteen minutes while Martha rounded up the stragglers.

"Most of ya probably know this, but on September 1st, ya will all be starting school. And everyone is going," Martha said, giving everyone a stern look.

"That's gross!" John Padmore called out.

"It's necessary," Martha replied with a smile.

Tom was a little excited. He and Harry had bribed quite a few of the other children into teaching them some basic things, but he personally couldn't wait until they were finally in school and learning substantial amounts rather than the piecemeal education they had managed to acquire. Harry had perked up some, but he continued watching his hands.

"We will all be going on a large trip in a few days to pick up school uniforms. Ya will all be enrolled at Kellinger's Primary School. Now, I think I've kept ya here long enough! You may go."

With Martha's words, everyone shot up and dispersed rapidly, as if being in the same room as the terrifying prospect of education was going to deal them grievous harm. Tom snorted at their silliness; they all looked like a bunch of fleeing rabbits. He slipped off the large wooden dollhouse, tapping Harry's shoulder. As Harry slowly unfolded and stood up lazily, Martha started making her way over.

"Harry," Martha said. "Mrs. Cole and I thought it would be easier for ya to attend the same school as everyone else. There is another school an hour away, but we ya'd thought that ya'd like to go with everyone else." Tom gave Martha an evil eye. For some reason, she didn't seem particularly sincere. Perhaps taking Harry to a specialized school would be too much work. In any case, Tom was sure that he could help Harry in school. They'd work something out.

"That's fine," Harry said, glancing at Tom. "Anything else?"

Martha shifted a little bit. "The school's looking to find ya some help with blind-people things, ya know, but it may take a while to find someone. I'm sure Tom'll help ya, though." She had stopped giving Tom pointed looks some time ago, having seen enough evidence of Tom's behaviour around Harry that she had stopped worrying for 'poor' Harry. However, she still had a tendency to make remarks that made Tom feel like spitting in her face. Not that he would do anything so uncouth, of course.

"Of course he will," Harry said, giving Tom a look, a smile twitching on his lips. Tom pursed his lips. Harry would probably find a way to blackmail him into helping him if Tom was being unhelpful. Or he wouldn't help Tom with his little hobby. Ever since Harry had joined in on their 'shopping' exploits, Tom managed to get a large hauls nearly every time. Well, as large at Tom could stuff down his underwear at a moment's notice. Harry still made fun of him for his most successful hiding place. What a git.

"Alright, that's wonderful," Martha said. "I'm gonna go and help out Jo in the kitchen. Don't get into trouble!" With that, Martha left in the direction of the kitchen, probably looking to snatch a few bites while helping. That was the only explanation Tom could find for her portly figure, as Martha lived at the orphanage and as far as he knew, consumed all of her meals there as well.

"So, Tom," Harry said mischievously. "You'll help me in school, right?"

"Of course," Tom insisted. "Why wouldn't I?"

"With everything?" Harry asked. He was looking positively gleeful. Appropriately, the scent of winter in the air appeared.

"...Yes," Tom said hesitantly. He had walked right into a trap.

"So if I happen to need to read a baby book for school, you won't complain?"

"Not this again!" Tom whined. "I'll read your stupid baby books."

"Of course you will," Harry said confidently. "What do you think school's gonna be like?"

"I don't know," Tom mused. "I heard Bobby and Robert talking about a few months ago. I guess we'll have to see."

"I'm sure it's going to be fun!" Harry said cheerfully.

"I hope so," Tom said. "Let's go back to our room. I want to read that book about physics. I think it's actually an old textbook."

"You're boring," Harry complained, but latched on to Tom's arm anyway. "We can go if you agree to play Crup with me in the yard later."

"Fine," Tom agreed sulkily.

***

**September 1, 1933**

The morning dawned slightly chilly. Harry was awake for ages before Tom, humming with excitement. His magic was more active than usual, literally dancing in nervousness. Harry watched it as Tom slept, trying to calm himself by following the familiar loose patterns, the green of the magic glowing brighter than usual. Birds began chirping, and Harry listened absently to their morning chorus as he examined his magic closer. It wasn't his imagination. His magic was changing slightly.

While before, his magic was a dark green with occasional flashes of gold and seemed to be sometimes shadowed with blue, his magic was now a little different. It had a few thin strands of gold, and had a few hair-thin strands of dark blue magic of a shade that matched Tom's. Additionally, sometimes it would flash pale green as well as gold. Harry couldn't understand why it would be changing. Maybe that happened as people got older? Tom's magic wasn't unchanged either. But his was filled with pale green strands now, and a few dark green ones like Harry's own magic. And if Harry really strained, his vision would grow impossibly clear and he would see thin strands of gold draped around Tom's magic like the glint of sunlight against water. Harry wouldn't be so baffled if their magic changed into different colors. But no, it seemed like it was progressively growing more similar!

Maybe it was a side effect of living near each other. But that couldn't be. Harry thought back to the first magic he saw: that of that nurse in St. Mungo's. It was a plain gold color. Maybe his sight wasn't advanced enough then to see the threads of different colors?

Whatever the reason, he couldn't help but be proud of their magic. It was so pretty! It swirled around in dark colors, glittering with other colors in a way that made it amazingly three-dimensional. He could honestly look at their magic all day. In fact, Harry found himself doing that quite often. Tom would always shoot him exasperated looks when he looked at his hands. However, Tom didn't shoot him looks when Harry was admiring his magic. It probably made him feel all special. Pompous git.

Harry jerked a little bit as Martha pounded on the door. "First day of school! Wake up!"

Tom sat up with a huff, rubbing his eyes. Harry snickered as Tom's hair was as messy as his own.

"Good morning," Harry said, smirking. "You look like a right mess."

"Thank you for such a brilliant greeting," Tom snarked, sliding off the bed and plodding to get dressed. "How long have you been awake, Happy Harry?"

"Long enough," Harry said, scratching underneath the collar of his shirt. "I've been watching our magic all morning."

"As usual," Tom said, pulling on his pants. "Seen the future yet?"

"Don't be silly, Tom," Harry chided. "You know Divination is bollocks."

"Do you need me to help you with your tie?" Tom asked, walking over. "I see the practice we did yesterday didn't help at all."

"I tried!" insisted Harry. "But this is what happened!" He brought out the tie from the where it was stuffed into the pocket of his blazer. He tried to put it on a million times that morning, but gave up when he eventually knotted it so tightly that his fingers hurt trying to pull it apart.

"Harry!" Tom said in despair. "What am I going to do with you?" He grabbed the tie from Harry's hands, staring at it in shock. "How did you do this?"

"It was an accident!" Harry said. "I tried putting it on but then this happened and I hurt my fingers trying to undo it."

Tom gave Harry the evil eye. "And how do you propose I undo it?"

"Magic," Harry said. "You're still better it it than I am. I tried but I swear it was laughing at me."

"Of course it was; this is a disaster." With that, Tom stared at the tie in his hands, lit to Harry's vision by the twitching of Tom's magic as he began pulling it forward. After a few moments, Harry watched enviously as a wave of magic wrapped itself around the tie, slowly tugging it apart. After a few seconds, the tie was unknotted, although it looked terribly wrinkled. Tom inhaled sharply, and his magic quickly jumped into the tie, expanding. As the magic inside expanded, the tie straightened out until it looked like it was ironed. With that, Tom's magic drew back, which caused Tom to exhale slowly.

"Now don't move," commanded Tom, stepping up to Harry and wrapping the tie around his neck. With a few deft twists, Harry was officially prepared for school. Harry waited patiently as Tom finished getting ready. When he finished, Tom walked over to Harry, grabbing onto his arms. "Come on, we don't want to be late," Tom said as he pulled Harry out of the room.

They ventured down the stairs, the sound of scrambling emitting from the hallway behind them. Harry suspected that his classmates also were having trouble with their uniforms, as they didn't have a genius Tom to do it for them. Harry was just lucky that way.

They walked into the dining room, Harry sitting at their usual spot while Tom headed up to retrieve their food. As Harry waited, Alyssa came up.

"Oh, Harry!" Alyssa squealed. "You look so grown up now!"

"Do I?" asked Harry. It would be convenient to be older. Maybe if he was older he'd be able to kick Billy's arse properly instead of defending himself and Tom all the time.

"Not really, no," Alyssa said, causing Harry to sigh in disappointment. "But you look really handsome. Except we need to fix that hair; some teachers don't like messy hair."

"I can't, remember?" Harry reminded. Tom had tried to fix it before with little success. The closest to being neat that it had ever been was when Tom had snuck a whole bottle of hair gel from Robert and dumped it on Harry's hair. Alyssa had then remarked that it looked like Harry had never washed his hair throughout his whole life. Tom didn't try again.

"Maybe I can-"

"No. Absolutely not," Harry interrupted.

"But Harry…," Alyssa said, leaning in closer. "I'm worried that a teacher might cane you for it!"

Harry winced. "Why would they allow teachers to do that?"

"It's discipline," Alyssa said in a tone that implied that she had been in subject of such discipline before.

"That sounds horrible," Harry breathed with a shudder.

"We'll just have to stay out of trouble," Tom said, walking up. He placed a plate in front of Harry before settling down himself.

"Easier said than done," Alyssa said. "You'll see." With that, Harry heard her footsteps fade into the distance.

Harry dug into his food after investigating it closely with a spoon. It was porridge, but it had a sprinkle of sugar in the center! Harry gave a little yip of happiness, digging in. Tom sighed.

"Harry! Eat neater; you'll get it all over your uniform."

"Blergh," Harry said through a mouthful of porridge, hunting for a drink around his plate. After taking a sip of milk, Harry swallowed and replied, "I am neat."

Tom simply gave him a very unimpressed look. Harry pouted, but complied, slowing down some. Tom had been very mad at him in the beginning for getting all of his clothes dirty. After being forced to wash them all by hand with icy water in the bathroom by Tom, Harry had decided to listen.

In no time, Harry had completely finished his breakfast. He sat bouncing in his chair as Tom continued eating at a sedate pace. After five whole excruciating minutes, Martha called out into the dining hall.

"Everyone out in the hall!"

Harry smirked as Tom stuffed in a few more mouthfuls in a rush. They both stood up, and they walked out into the hall. Martha was there, lecturing the older children.

"Ya'll walk all the little ones to school, alright? Just for the first week. No pranks, or ya all will be on kitchen duty helping dear Jo."

A murmur of assent echoed throughout the room. "Now go!" Martha said. "School will be starting soon."

Harry and Tom began to trail after the others, Harry fighting the urge to skip from excitement and nervousness. Although Tom was trying to hide his excitement, his magic gave him away, excitedly dancing in the air along with Harry's magic. Harry was again struck with how similar their magic looked. Though ultimately different, having such similar colors made them seem like they were part of the same set.

They walked for twenty minutes, during which Harry's nervousness grew and grew. Tom eventually had to whisper reassurances into his ear. But finally, they arrived at school! Harry perked up when he heard the sound of a lot of other children in front of the school. There was laughter, giggling, yelling, and all manner of sounds. It sounded like some were playing a game with their hands, and Harry heard a few pounding steps race right by him, followed by several other sets.

It sounded absolutely brilliant.

Right as they neared the school, a harsh sound rang through the air. Harry turned to look at Tom, who was looking back.

"Ready?" Harry asked, tense with nerves.

"Of course," Tom said confidently, but Harry heard him take a deep breath anyway before he pulled Harry forward.

***

Tom was so utterly bored that he wished he could look at his magic some. That would keep him from having to listen to the disgusting drivel that their headmaster was spouting.

Next to him, Harry was blankly staring forward, fighting the urge to fall asleep. Tom had to periodically nudge him to keep him mostly upright. It wouldn't do to get in trouble the very first day of school. Of course, it was only to be expected that Harry would be falling asleep to the dull voice of the headmaster. He was younger than Tom, after all.

The headmaster seemed to be wrapping up his tedious speech. He had blathered on about so many rules that Tom rather thought that the school wished for them to turn into soldiers, following a pre-approved set of motions. Tom wouldn't put it past them, anyway. He had heard some troubling news last time he had went into town. He wasn't sure if Harry had heard, but there was a drunk across the street who had been yelling about an upcoming war. That was utterly ridiculous! Tom thought that he had a fairly decent knowledge of current events, and nothing had even begun to hint at war. But it still made Tom uneasy. Something was off.

He thought back to the newspapers he had been reading. Nothing seemed too suspicious. But then there was that one thing...someone worrying had been elected chancellor in Germany. Tom couldn't remember much. He also distinctly remembered reading about a speech by someone named Churchill worrying about Germany. He had brushed it off in favor of reading other articles. Perhaps it was time to pay more attention to the international news. It wouldn't do to forget that a whole other world existed outside of their little section of London.

The headmaster started calling for prayer. Oh no, not more of that codswallop! Tom had heard enough about religion from Martha, who had thought that making him read the Bible was going to 'fix' him. Needless to say, he had read some of it, and it didn't impress him very much.

Tom waited, twitching with irritation, through the headmaster's final words. Harry seemed to have fallen asleep sitting up. Tom jabbed his elbow harshly into Harry's side. He bit back a snicker as Harry's eyes flew open, trying to hold back a yelp. Harry then turned slightly to glare at him.

"That wasn't funny!" Harry hissed under his breath, glancing in the direction of the headmaster.

"It was," Tom whispered back. "You should have seen your face. You looked like a frog."

"That's gross!" Harry said, wide-eyed.

"Shhh!" Tom said. "It's time to go to class. I still don't understand why we're starting school on a Friday."

"Probably because that means that we have one day to suffer before we get the whole weekend to recover," Harry said, standing up. Tom stood up as well, and began to lead them after the other children. The large hall was rather drafty, and he didn't want to stay there any longer than he had to.

"Who is our teacher?" Harry asked, looking around curiously.

"What are you looking for?" Tom asked, listening for some sort of direction. Half of the students had begun to funnel away. Tom noticed Jack Gullinger and Paul Santino standing near a group of children around their age. He began to make his way over to them, Harry holding onto the edge of his shirt as he kept swiveling his head.

"I can't see anyone," Harry said, disappointed.

"Oh. You were searching for others?" Tom asked as they drew near.

"Yeah. Nobody, though."

Tom felt a little satisfied. He would be the only one for Harry. It would be absolutely terrible if Harry made another friend with magic. This saved him from finding a way to deal with a possible problem.

"It's okay. You can just make friends with the others here," Tom said gratuitously. He knew nobody could replace him.

"Hello!" Harry said, with fake cheer. They had reached the others.

"Hey, Harry," Jack said warily, shooting a slightly fearful look at Tom. Tom sneered at him, feeling satisfied when Jack twitched noticeably.

"Hello," a girl with blond hair said. "My name is Janice."

"Hello!" piped up a girl with wild red hair. "I'm Agatha, although I like being called Athy more than my real name because it's a little ugly in my opinion and aren't you excited to start school?"

Tom instantly took a disliking to 'Athy.' He resolved to call her Agatha just to irritate her.

"Nice to meet you, Athy, Janice," Harry said, stepping forward to shake hands. "I'm Harry, and this sour-faced git is Tom," pointing his thumb at Tom over his shoulder. "Are we supposed to head to class?"

"I heard that we're supposed to wait here for our teacher to pick us up," Janice said quietly.

"If that's the case," Tom asked, irritated, "then how come we are the last ones here, with no teacher in sight?"

It was true. Outside of their small group and a few others of children their age, spaced around the hallway, there was no sign of an adult presence. More adult negligence, Tom thought sourly. This wasn't how he planned for his education to go.

"Tom," Harry said quietly, stepping back to tug on his shirt.

Blast it all! How could Harry read him so well?

"I'm fine," Tom said, masking his disappointment with nonchalance.

"Sure," Tom heard Harry whisper under his breath fondly, before he turned away to talk to Agatha.

Tom sighed. "So, are you excited for school?" he asked Janice. She seemed alright so far, although his opinion of her would vastly depend on her answer.

"Yes, I am," Janice said. "I need to learn Maths most to help out my family."

"Family?" Tom echoed. Oh yeah, people existed who had actual family. Tom had forgotten for a moment.

"Oh," Janice said. "Are you from an orphanage? I thought you and Harry looked like brothers."

Tom simply glared at her. He stalked over to Harry. He was about to grab Harry and lead them to stand separately from everyone else, but then he heard a curious thing. Turning around, he stared as a -was that a human being? - stumbled closer down the hallway.

Harry turned in the direction of the sound, and Tom was suddenly glad that Harry couldn't see it. The creature - for humans simply didn't look like that - was a disgustingly fat, yellow-clad monstrosity, that gave off the reek of something that Tom could tell was alcohol. The hair was a brown mess, and the yellow clothing was terribly stained. The thing smiled a broken smile, and Tom could see missing teeth and brown spots. Tom shuddered, stepping backwards slightly to the side, in front of Harry.

"Squirts!" the thing said, stopping a few meters away. "Git over here."

Nobody moved. Tom could practically taste Harry's confusion on his tongue. He didn't understand what was quite so horrid.

"I said, git over here!" the thing repeated. "I am your teacher, and you squirts will listen to me."

Agatha took a hesitant step forward. A few others followed. Not willing to be the last one, because standing out in this case would be a supremely horrible idea, Tom pulled Harry forward with him.

As Tom had predicted, the thing had latched on to the last person to draw near.

"Is the itty-bitty squirt afraid?" the thing asked, stalking nearer to a trembling Paul. "No matter. You'll see that I'm very nice. Follow me," the thing commanded, grabbing onto Paul's blazer and pulling him down the hallway.

Tom, shaken, began to follow, Harry pressed close to his side.

"What is going on?" Harry whispered so quietly that Tom almost doubted that he really heard something.

"...That thing is our teacher," Tom said, in horror. "I think I understand what Alyssa meant." No matter how much it stung to admit it, Tom realized that perhaps they were out of their league here.

***

Harry had listened with winces as Paul cried out repeatedly. Their teacher had caned him for something. He was pretty sure that everyone else had some idea of why, but Harry couldn't fathom what he could have done. He remembered Paul; he was one of the children in the neighboring rooms of the orphanage. Paul was one of the few who had never been mean to Harry. Surely he couldn't have done something terrible before class even started?

Fear was bitter. Harry felt the coldness start in his belly, and he knew that all of his muscles were tense, as if he was going to run away any second. He knew that wouldn't work out, though. It would be anticlimactic if he ran into the wall instead of the door, and he didn't have the time to make sure he was going in the right direction.

For the first time in a long while, Harry cursed the one who had done this to him; made him helpless and weak in the darkness. At least Tom was a light that Harry could cling to; a linchpin to Harry's stability that he could hold onto always.

Harry felt Tom squeeze his hand. They were sitting next to each other in the exact centre of the classroom. Harry knew that being so centered made Tom feel uneasy; his magic was literally fidgeting.

Harry held back a sigh of relief when the sound of wood hitting skin and Paul's cries ended.

"Let this be a lesson to you," the teacher said. "My word here is law."

The classroom was deathly silent.

"Now," the teacher said, "my name is Mr. Anderton. Let's begin."

To Harry's horror, and quite certainly Tom's, Mr. Anderton started out with the basics. Basics so basic that Harry felt the urge to bang his head in frustration on his desk.

Days of the week. Counting by ones. The class was completely silent, unless they were called on.

The whole class went by in this silence so profound that it seemed almost tangible. Harry watched the magic around him dance a mirror to his and Tom's emotions, and imagined that they were back in their cold, small room at the orphanage.

"Now," Mr. Anderson said, "time for lunch. Follow me."

Everyone scrambled up at a truly impressive speed, bags thrown over shoulders loudly, and feet scrabbling against the floor. Harry got up quickly, grabbing onto the bag that Tom thrust into his hand, and grabbing onto his shirt. Harry sped after Tom as they left the classroom in a hurry, Harry knocking his legs on a few chair legs. He heard Tom mutter an apology. Harry didn't care. He understood.

Lunch turned out to be a surprisingly loud affair. After saying prayers (well, Harry and Tom only mouthed them because religion hated magic) the lunch room swelled with laughter, loud talking, and the clink of utensils against plates. The table that Harry and Tom sat at, with their classmates, however, was almost completely silent.

"I can't believe that was allowed!" Athy said.

"Neither can I," Janice agreed. "Hey, your name is Paul, right? Are you okay?"

Harry listened carefully, but he didn't hear anyone say anything. That wasn't a

good sign.

"We just have to stay out of his way," Harry said. "If we don't draw attention to ourselves, then we'll be fine." Harry didn't believe his own words, but he heard a few people slump. Perhaps that did help some of his classmates.

"I doubt that will work," Tom said, which made Harry scowl. Tom was such a

downer. "He seems to be the kind that enjoys picking on someone. The only thing that will change is who is the target."

"Why do you speak like that?" Athy asked. "You sound like a grown-up."

Harry laughed. "Tom likes to read dictionaries for fun." He smirked as Tom's magic curled in irritation.

"Do not," Tom said coldly.

"That's what you want everyone to believe!" Harry said sweetly. Harry bit his lip as everyone around them started laughing as well. While cheering everyone up was certainly a good thing, he didn't think doing it at Tom's expense was a good idea. But it was too late.

An elbow jabbed into his side, in the exact same place as before. Harry bit back another yelp.

"You deserve it," Tom hissed under his breath.

"Sorry," Harry whispered.

"You can read?" Janice asked. "That's amazing! I don't think anyone knows how to do that yet."

"Yes," Tom answered shortly.

"How about you, Harry?" Athy asked. "You look like his friend."

"No," Harry said. "Being blind makes it a bit difficult to decipher the letters."

"You're blind?"

"I couldn't tell at all…"

"What does des...eye...fur mean?"

Harry sighed. "I was in an accident when I was small and now I can't see anymore. Decipher means to understand."

The rest of lunch continued with Harry being bombarded with questions, and Tom's increasing irritation. After lunch, everyone headed out to the front of the school. There, Harry was dragged away by Tom to stand underneath a tree some distance away from the others.

"Do you want new friends?" Tom asked angrily.

"No?" Harry said. "Why would you think that?"

"You were answering their questions and joking and laughing about me," Tom said. "I thought that meant that I wasn't important to you anymore."

"Tom!" Harry said. "I'm sorry! I just forgot we weren't home."

"Don't call that place home!" Tom said. "You know it's not."

"Sorry," Harry muttered.

"You better be!" Tom said. Harry leaned against the tree to his back, closing his eyes. Seeing Tom's roiling magic made him feel too guilty. After a few minutes, Tom whispered, "You know, it really made me upset when you practically ignored me during lunch."

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "It's just...everyone was talking and I thought I had to answer…"

Tom was silent for a while longer. "We're still best friends, right?"

Harry opened his eyes. Tom's magic was still...hopeful.

Harry grabbed onto Tom's hand. "Of course we are. The bestest friends ever."

They stood there for a few moments before Tom said, "You know, 'bestest' isn't a real word…"

"Shut up!" Harry said, Tom sniggering.

***

Their afternoon lesson didn't go as...quietly as the first.

Tom watched Harry's hands get rapped repeatedly with that blasted cane, feeling cold. The air tasted like cold despair. Harry was biting his lip, eyes closed, and the creature was grinning smugly as he kept bringing that cane down. Harry hadn't yet made a sound, and Tom felt a little proud of him for it. That creature would just enjoy the sound of Harry's pain even more.

Tom was fighting down the urge to jump on that creature and break his neck. He was sure that he could manage it somehow. Maybe if he put his whole weight behind it…

Every slap made Tom wince internally, and the sight of that creature's leer pulled a roiling rage out from deep within. Tom felt like he was fire and ice at the same time. Harry was his. Why was this happening?

It all started with a simple question.

"You, squirt, tell me what one plus one is."

Harry didn't know that the creature was asking him. Tom quickly nudged Harry, who glanced at him in shock before turning back to the front.

"Me?," Harry said.

The creature's face turned dark. "Yes, you, squirt. Are you blind?"

Tom felt horrified when he heard Harry reply clearly, "Yes, in fact."

"Are you making fun of me?" the creature had asked. The face had twisted.

"No, I really am," Harry insisted. "Didn't they tell you?"

No, no, no! Don't imply that the creature doesn't know something, Tom screamed mentally. But it was too late.

"You dare to question me?" the creature questioned, a note of what could have been shock in his voice. "That is simply unacceptable."

A few minutes later, they were in their present situation.

Harry was simply not careful enough. That creature was constantly searching for someone to dominate over. Tom decided to look for some books on human psychology the next time they visited the library. It wouldn't hurt.

But Tom had to do something. It was the first day. The ones who had brought attention onto themselves were no doubt going to be remembered; would suffer in the future. So...Tom decided that he would give that creature the others on a silver platter, if only he could keep himself out of it and keep Harry safe too. He had to.

 

Notes: Although there were schools for the blind for ages, during the 1930s many blind children still attended their residential schools with additional educational support. During the 1930s the use of the white cane became popular. Braille and a type of writing called New York Point were popularized in the 1880s: I assume that by the 1930s British schools would teach Braille. Before that existed a few writing systems which dealt in embossed letters. 

I have found a few primary sources on British education during this time period, so I'm hoping to at least get the essentials correct. However, I will be extrapolating on the information and tweaking it a little bit, so take everything with a grain of salt! I am making up a school to use, as I don't want to incorrectly portray an actual school that existed in this time period!

Corporal punishment was definitely allowed and encouraged during this time period, unfortunately. Also, most schools had a definite religious leaning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
> WARNING: corporal punishment
> 
> Although there were schools for the blind for ages, during the 1930s many blind children still attended their residential schools with additional educational support. During the 1930s the use of the white cane became popular. Braille and a type of writing called New York Point were popularized in the 1880s: I assume that by the 1930s British schools would teach Braille. Before that existed a few writing systems which dealt in embossed letters.
> 
> I have found a few primary sources on British education during this time period, so I’m hoping to at least get the essentials correct. However, I will be extrapolating on the information and tweaking it a little bit, so take everything with a grain of salt! I am making up a school to use, as I don’t want to incorrectly portray an actual school that existed in this time period! 
> 
> Corporal punishment was definitely allowed and encouraged during this time period, unfortunately. Also, most schools had a definite religious leaning.


	8. The Changeling Alliance

September 9, 1933

Tom grinned evilly as he looked at Harry. Harry was sprawled across their bed - more like a cot, really - in a most amusing manner, sheet somehow bunched underneath Harry’s neck. That looked like it would be sore, Tom thought with a wince, but Harry deserved it. It would teach him not to steal the blanket all night! Tom woke up at least once a night shivering. He had become rather skilled at wrestling the blanket away from Harry, but it was still rather irritating. Tom really wished he could teach himself to steal the blanket in his sleep just to get back at Harry. It would be a funny reversal.

But blanket-stealing hijinks all aside, this fine Saturday morning, Tom had a plan. A glorious plan. It began with one of Tom’s favorite daily activities... waking up Harry in the most annoying way possible. Normally, Tom woke up at least an hour before Harry, so he had a lot of time to prepare whenever he was feeling particularly vengeful. He had started doing this about a month ago, and it was terribly hilarious.

Today...today was going to be one of Tom’s favorites. Tom glanced back at the tattered grey blanket and sprawled limbs on the bed, pulling on another shirt. It was a bit brisk today. Tom buttoned it up, humming with excitement, before carefully opening the door, taking care not to let it squeak. Mrs. Cole tended to disapprove of anyone being up too early. She probably thought that someone would spend the time playing pranks.

Tom was suddenly reminded that what he was doing right now was actually considered ‘hooligan’ material on Mrs. Cole’s part, and that made him stifle a snicker.

Tom crept to the bathroom, slipping in quietly. He walked over to the sink, turning it on sticking his index finger under the stream. The water was icy cold and made his finger feel numb, but Tom ignored it, waiting until he deemed enough time had passed. Turning off the sink with his other hand, Tom slipped out of the bathroom and tip-toed back to his room. Upon entering, Tom couldn’t resist grinning again.

He inched closer and closer to Harry, finger still wet and frozen. Harry snorted quietly in his sleep, rolling to the side slightly. Tom inwardly cheered as Harry’s ridiculously wild black hair shifted just enough to expose one of Harry’s ears. Waiting a few seconds for the perfect moment, Tom caught his breath. Exhaling after a few seconds, Tom quickly thrust his wet and freezing finger right into Harry’s ear.

The reaction did not disappoint.

Harry surged out of bed with a girlish scream, twisting in midair until Tom’s finger was ripped from his ear. “Tom!” Harry moaned, rubbing his ear. “Why do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you, Harry,” Tom said sticking his hand into his pocket and sighing quietly as his numb finger began to warm again. “In fact, I love you very much. So much that I wanted you to enjoy the morning with me before the sun came up. And waking you up properly any other way would have taken too long.”

“You just like it when I scream,” Harry muttered darkly, wiping at his ear with a grimace. “You know, that’s just gross. Why would you even do that?”

“It’s effective,” Tom shrugged.

“I’m tempted to do something like that to you.”

“Ha,” Tom said. “As if you ever wake up before me. That hardly ever happens.”

“Just wait,” Harry said, glowering. “One day.”

“I’m scared!” Tom said in a high-pitched voice, pretending to cower away in fear. Harry looked unimpressed.

“I’m tempted to get revenge,” Harry said. “It’s been a while.”

“I,” Tom said, paling slightly, “am not going to be convinced into playing that horrible game again.”

“But you make such a nice Crup!” Harry wheedled. Tom took a step back. Harry’s eyes had changed from anger to a familiar mischievous look.

“No,” Tom said, edging away slightly. Harry stepped closer. Tom watched warily as Harry slinked closer, fingertips twitching. Hearing a slight intake of breath, Harry’s personal tell, Tom dived for the bed, sprawling across it just in time. Behind him, Harry whirled around, leaping forward as well. Tom wriggled sideways, swinging his feet to the floor and jumping off of the bed as fast as he could, darting to the dresser. Harry followed him, eyes glinting.

“Are you scared?” Harry dared to ask, smirking.

“Of course not!” Tom said, a familiar lie. Harry shook his head in denial.

“You’re so obvious!” Harry declared, jerking toward Tom in an ungraceful motion that Tom hadn’t even seen coming. Tom crashed into the dresser behind him, holding back yelps of laughter as Harry’s evil fingers danced down his sides. Harry looked smugly at Tom, who was struggling to breathe, vainly trying to convince himself that tickling didn’t feel ticklish in the slightest.

“Stop!” Tom wheezed, bending over. He shoved at Harry, a few high-pitched laughs breaking free. “You’re evil!”

“You’re the one who stuck your soggy finger in my ear,” Harry said, folding his arms with a smirk. “It’s only fair that you suffer too.”

“But your face is always so funny!” Tom whined. “I can’t help it.”

“Try,” Harry said. “I swear, I’ll learn to wake up before you. And then you’ll wake up every morning with your hand in a cup of water.”

“You wouldn’t,” Tom said, horrified. “That’s gross.”

“It would be your fault. I’m warning you!” Harry said, pointing his finger at Tom. “Now come on, let’s get breakfast.” Harry reached out a hand, Tom grasping it tightly and pulling himself out of his half-folded position. Harry began pulling Tom toward the door, but suddenly froze.

“Oh wait, I forgot to change,” Harry muttered, shooting an annoyed look at Tom. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Tom actually hadn’t noticed, but he instead plastered an immensely smug grin on his face. To his delight, Harry narrowed his eyes and huffed, stomping over to the dresser, pulling out some clothes and pulling them on. Tom sniggered when Harry ended up pulling on Tom’s pants by mistake, almost tripping on them. Harry shot him a glare that was so menacing that Tom felt proud of him.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry finished eating his porridge, sighing contentedly. He had snuck some sugar from the kitchen storage a few nights ago when he was feeling restless. Harry had made sure to sprinkle the sugar very carefully over his porridge, hiding the paper it was wrapped in against the palm of his hand. Of course, after Tom had noticed Harry’s addition, he had wheedled Harry into sharing some. So they were both now full after a pleasanter breakfast than usual.

“What are we going to do today?” Harry asked, eyes closed as he savored the sugary sweetness that lay so smoothly on his tongue. “It’s odd to think about going to school most of the week.”

“Well,” Tom said, leaning closer. “I think we need to figure out how to deal with that creature.”

“Mr. Anderson?” Harry questioned, pausing. “Why do you call him that?”

“It’s just because that’s what he is,” Tom stated firmly. “He’s disgusting both in looks and personality. Something that disgusting can’t be human.”

“Tom, you used the word ‘disgusting’ twice!” Harry called in mock horror. “Shame! Repeating words!”

Tom glared at him and poked him hard in the arm. “Shut up. I was explaining.”

“Okay,” Harry said, sniggering. “Go on. Tell me about this scary scary creature that is actually our teacher.”

“I don’t understand why you can be so...so...okay with him!” Tom sputtered. “You remember what he did to you, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, focusing his sight on the pleasant coils of his magic. “I remember.”

Harry remembered all too well. Feeling his face slipping into a frown, he rubbed at his arm. He had felt so helpless then. And feeling Tom twitch near him, feeling his roiling magic as it swirled around in pain and confusion and something that Harry was quite sure was helplessness…

“I don’t like thinking about it,” Harry muttered.

“That won’t help you, you know,” Tom said pointedly. “Pretending you’re not scared of him is just lying to yourself. Next time he scares you, you won’t be ready.”

“What do you think we can do?” Harry said, exasperated. “We’re just...babies, compared to him.”

Tom was pensieve. “I’ll be right back,” Tom said quietly. Harry listened to the clatter of their bowls as Tom stacked them on top of each other, followed by the clink of their spoons. That finished, Harry listened as Tom drew away, peeking up to watch Tom’s retreating form. He felt a little bad that Tom was doing that for them every day, but he didn’t really feel like he could do much about it. Navigating through the maze of chairs and tables when they were empty was hard enough as it was. Harry had already collected a few impressive bruises on his shins until he learnt to be a little more careful.

As Harry watched Tom return, he stood up and sighed. “Let’s go to the park?” Harry offered as a peace offering. No matter how much Tom denied it, he loved going to the park, even if it was probably because of the lack of other orphans. Not to mention the distinct lack of Alyssa, who professed to hate nature.

“Alright,” Tom said, grabbing onto Harry’s arm. “But it’s cold outside today. We need to dress better.”

Harry followed Tom up to their room, yawning a little. “We’ll finish this conversation later,” Tom murmured. Harry nodded his assent. “How cold?” Harry asked, heading over to the window. He laid his hand along the glass, closing his eyes. The cold seemed to trickle into his fingers from the point of contact with the glass at an almost leisurely pace, the chill numbing his fingers.

“Yeah, cold,” Harry answered to himself.

“Here,” Tom said, and Harry turned to face him. Harry wasn’t fast enough, though, as he turned right into the coat that Tom had thrown at him. It smacked him right in the face, the scratchy material feeling rather unpleasant as it slid down into his waiting arms.

“Thanks a lot,” Harry muttered darkly. Tom only graced him with a charming smile.

“I just would hate for you to be cold!” Tom said. “It wouldn’t do for you to catch a chill.”

“Yeah, because you hate caring for me when I’m sick. You could just say that,” Harry said, smiling wryly.

“Lies!” Tom insisted. Harry shrugged on his coat, humming when he noticed how warm it was. He wasn’t quite sure exactly where and when Tom had obtained this one, but it was certainly lovely. He wondered if it was ‘permanently borrowed’ or not. Some items Tom only loaned, as they were more likely to be missed. Whatever the situation, Harry could enjoy the coat as it was now.

“I’m ready,” Harry said, sticking his hands inside a pair of soft gloves, wrapping a scarf around his neck. “I feel like I’m overdressed.”

“You’ll be fine,” Tom said dismissively. “It’s cold outside; you’ll be glad you wore all that.”

Tom grabbed Harry’s arm and they proceeded to make their way out of the orphanage. What they were doing could be called sneaking out, as they hadn’t told anyone about it. However, Tom had made the argument that if the adults at the orphanage truly cared about the orphans sneaking out, they wouldn’t leave the gate open during the day. Harry knew that he and Tom weren’t the only ones.

Tom ambled casually in the direction of the gates, leaning against the brick wall that surrounded the courtyard. Harry leaned back against it too, shivering when he touched some of it with his neck. He rearranged his scarf.

“Do you see anyone?” Harry asked, listening intently.

“Nobody’s looking out way,” Tom said, yanking sharply at Harry’s coat. “Come on.”

Throat suddenly tight with apprehension, Harry slipped out of the gate behind Tom, who immediately turned sharply to the right, walking confidently. Tom always said that one had to look like they knew what they were doing to keep people from interfering. Harry didn’t question it; everything had worked for Tom so far.

They walked along the sidewalk for a few minutes, steadily relaxing...to a point. After Tom finished swiveling his head around, scanning their surroundings, he sighed. “We can go.”

Harry smiled broadly, turning around the corner a half-step behind Tom. He grimaced a little as the cloying, too-sweet smell of garbage hit him in the face.

“That’s gross,” Harry said, shuddering. Tom grunted his assent, speeding up. Harry smiled fondly. Tom and his park, really.

After making their way to the park, which had involved a harrowing almost-accident with a bicycle, and an unexpected car as they crossed the street, they had finally made it to the the park.

Harry inhaled the smell of plants and soil and living things, sighing happily. Beside him, Tom did the same, his magic uncoiling into goo and lazily moving around them. Harry noted with amusement that his magic seemed to be doing the same thing. He wondered if it was a common side-effect with wizards and witches.

Tom led them over to his favorite tree. Harry wasn’t quite sure what kind of tree it was, although Tom probably knew. What was most important was that the tree was behind two fairly large bushes, isolating it a bit. There, they could curl up and read and even practice their magic together on particularly empty days.

It appeared that today was one of those days. Harry bundled his coat a little closer to his body, snuggling back against the tree. He felt Tom do the same thing on his other side.

“So,” Harry said. “Mr. Anderson.”

Tom sighed. “We can’t get in trouble with him again. The orphanage already thinks bad things about us.”

“I know,” Harry said. “They can’t kick us out, right?”

Tom was silent for a few moments before softly replying, “I hope not.”

“Any ideas?” Harry asked. He ran his fingers across the smooth grass, digging them as far as he could into the cold ground.

Tom shifted. Harry waited for him to say what he wanted to say. If Tom’s hesitation meant anything, it meant that Tom thought that Harry would disapprove of his idea.

“I think,” Tom said carefully, “that we should give the creature something else to focus on.”

“What do you mean by that?” Harry asked. “Pranks?”

“No,” Tom replied quickly. “I mean, you noticed that he likes hurting us. He’s always going to be hurting someone.”

“That sounds like giving up,” Harry said.

“No!” Tom repeated. “I meant that we could shift the blame onto others. Someone is going to have to suffer anyway; it’s better if it’s not us.”

Harry sat numbly for a few moments. “Are you serious?” Harry asked, voice turning high-pitched. “So everyone else suffers instead of us?”

“Do you have a better idea?” Tom snapped. “It’s us or them. Choose. You don’t even know half of them, and the rest are just others who hate us from the orphanage.”

“It doesn’t seem right!” Harry insisted. “How would we be any better than Mr. Anderson?”

Tom didn’t reply for a minute. When he began talking again, his voice started out low and silky. “Harry, just because the creature likes hurting people doesn’t mean that you do. This is...protecting ourselves. We get picked on, they get picked on...it makes no difference.” Tom inhaled loudly before continuing. “Except this way, we’ll be safe, and I won’t have to feel like I’m going to explode when you’re about to cry!” Tom said with a voice had risen a substantial amount, cracking a little.

Harry was quiet. “I see.”

“It’s us or them,” Tom finally said. “And I don’t know about you, but I’d pick us.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tom watched the clouds moving through the net of leaves far above his head. Harry had been silent for a while, probably thinking his words over. He knew it wouldn’t take Harry too long to realize that he was right; that Tom was the only person that Harry could count on, because Tom knew that Harry would always be there for him.

That cloud looked sort of like Harry, Tom thought. A few wisps of pale grey streamed out artfully from the main body of the cloud, and if Tom squinted, it looked rather like Harry’s annoying mess of hair. He smiled as the cloud changed slightly in the wind. Now it looked more like a silhouette of Harry than ever...although it did somewhat resemble a melted teapot.

The park was deliciously quiet today. All that Tom could hear was the faint sound of Harry’s breathing and the rustle of the grass by Harry’s leg where he was digging into the soil. The air tasted clear and icy, as if the stink of the city was just beyond a wall. Tom knew that it was silly; the smell of exhaust and garbage was just looming around the little isle of clean air that was the park. But somehow, being here with Harry and tasting nothing but nature and winter on his tongue was the best feeling in the world.

Tom lifted a hand, looking it over. It was odd how something as simple as a hand could do so many wonderful things. He knew he couldn’t see it - that was Harry’s thing - but sometimes he thought that he could feel his magic as it spun out and did wonderful things. He glanced over at Harry, who was still pensively looking into the distance. The grass around his fingers was matted and slightly torn, as was the ground that he had been digging into.

Tom didn’t like Harry feeling uncomfortable, but it was truly an “us or them” situation. He couldn’t understand why it wasn’t as easy to Harry as it was to him. Why did Harry care so much about what other people felt? He remembered the bet that he had made with Harry months ago. He thought that Harry had won it by now. He had felt extremely strong emotions such as hate, fear, and protectiveness...but they all centered around himself and Harry. It seemed as if Harry decided to feel emotions for everyone else in the world. Tom couldn’t help but think that that was dangerous, though.

Tom dropped his hand back down to the ground, right on top of a dying flower. He gazed at the bent flower head peeking out between his fingers for a few moments before summoning that familiar feeling of power being just one twitch away. He focused on the flower and willed it to turn back time and be the way that it once was. To open and be as if autumn was not approaching. He felt something whisper past his fingers and he watched, still entranced with the wonder of magic, as the flower slowly straightened, brown withered petals slowly turning back to pale pink.

Tom heard a shift beside him, and he turned to meet Harry’s eyes, who looked at him for a moment before looking down at the flower. Tom felt his magic finish the job and retreat back into him, and Harry’s gaze turned back to him.

“I don’t understand,” Harry said. “You don’t understand why it’s bad to hurt other people. But then you go and do things like this.”

“It’s just a flower,” Tom said, lifting his hand away from the flower and settling it just off to the side. “I don’t think you can compare flowers to people.”

“But it doesn’t make sense,” Harry said with a sigh. “But it’s okay. I’ll get you to understand one day.” Harry leaned into Tom’s shoulder, resuming his digging in the ground.

“I’ll get you to understand me,” Tom said, but Harry was silent. They sat like that for a long time.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was frustrated. Understandably frustrated, of course, but that didn’t stop him from making him want to curse the next person to enter his study. He growled quietly as his eyes flicked back and forth over the reports he had on his desk. He needed to distract himself from the mind-numbing stupidity of humanity before he set his study on fire.

He walked out of his work study and turned, striding quickly down the dark and gloomy halls of his manor. After a few short strides, he reached the door to his personal study and entered, closing the door and absently casting a powerful ward in its direction. He didn’t want to be disturbed by anyone when he was doing his best to get rid of that simmering irritation which seemed to be only brewing and steeping underneath his skin.

Maybe today he would get more results.

He walked over to a large desk covered with parchment and muggle paper and a few odd potions ingredients that he hadn’t felt like clearing away last time he was tinkering. He swept the potions ingredients to the side with a flick of his wand, making them vanish with a slight jab. He leant over the desk, fixing his gaze onto a map of England.

“Where could you be hiding?” he muttered under his breath, stroking the map carefully with one finger. “I know you survived; I want to see if it worked…”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

September 11, 1933

“I can’t believe you did that,” Harry whispered hotly, shooting a glare at Tom. Tom merely lifted an eyebrow at him before resuming his careful scanning of their surroundings.

“Tom!” Harry said, not caring one whit that someone from the large group of orphanage children would hear. “Why did you make it seem like Athy brought in those frogs?”

“Shh!” Tom said, his hand tightening on Harry’s wrist. “You know why.”

“But Mr. Anderson was in a good mood today!” Harry said. “Maybe he wouldn’t have done anything. You just provoked him!”

“Why do you think he was in a good mood?” Tom whispered viciously. “I heard during lunch that he caught someone trying to draw something bad on the walls.”

“Maybe it would have stayed!” Harry protested, heart sinking. Tom had been pointedly mentioning Mr. Anderson’s lack of humanity and the principle of “you are more important than anyone else” for the past two days. Harry hated to admit it, but it was wearing on him, especially with how today had went.

“You know it wouldn’t have,” Tom said simply.

“I don’t like it,” Harry said firmly. “I still think that making other people in trouble on purpose is wrong. What about just staying silent in class?”

“He’ll get you in trouble for anything if nobody does anything,” Tom said. Then, Tom froze. “Harry,” Tom said quietly, “get ready to run.”

“What is it?” Harry asked, tensing up. He lifted himself slightly onto his toes, bending his knees a little.

“Billy. He’s waiting in an alley just a little bit ahead of us.”

Harry felt cold trickling down his spine. “Oh. Together or separate?”

“We’re too far from the orphanage for separate. You’d get hit by a car.”

“Nice to know you have so much faith in me,” Harry weakly joked. “Can’t we go around?”

“No,” Tom said curtly. “They’ve seen us. Go!”

Tom clutched harder onto Harry’s wrist like a vise, leaping into the street. Harry heard a few yells as well as one long horn sound, but it didn’t look like it was too near them. Tom had probably been waiting for the best opportunity to cross.

As they both ran across the road, Harry tripping on the curb which appeared too fast for him to realize that Tom had stepped up, Harry could hear the sound of pounding footsteps behind him. There was one loud yell, and Harry thought that he could hear some sort of collision. Maybe one of Billy’s friends had been hit by a car. They would deserve it.

The air, horribly humid and warm, unlike the chilly day they had had in the park two days before, made Harry feel like he was choking. The taste of gasoline lay thick on his tongue. Tom’s grip seemed clammy to Harry, but that couldn’t be helped.

Tom was twisting around barriers that Harry could not see like mad. Harry knew that Tom was not going as fast as he possibly could so that Harry could keep up without crashing into everything. Despite Tom’s care, Harry still occasionally hit his shins against something hard - probably a bench - and once collided almost fully with a person who was ridiculously soft. Tom had yanked him away quickly, which Harry was glad for, as he had accidentally grabbed onto something that had detached into his hands. Harry had a suspicion that that person would miss it.

Tom was rather brilliant. He knew the streets around them ridiculously well. Often, they could find a good hiding place to lay low in for a while before Billy’s gang caught up. Billy’s gang would win over a longer-distance race, so Harry knew that it was truly wonderful that Tom came up with such good ideas all the time.

“Stay close to me!” Tom shouted back at him, darting to the left. Harry followed him, trying to get as close as possible to Tom without making them trip. The area they had turned into wasn’t cobblestone. It felt rather springy, actually. Much like the ground that Harry loved digging his fingers into when they were at the park.

“Squeeze in between the rails,” Tom commanded, crouching down and shoving Harry forward. Harry flung his hands forward, hitting cold iron railings and curling his fingers around them. The railings were not very widely spaced, so Harry turned sideways and shoved himself in between the railings. The railings were rather tight, pressing uncomfortably into Harry’s body. His head even got a little stuck, but Tom grabbed it and pushed it to one side enough to allow to pass. Harry tumbled backward onto what felt like grass, panting. He sat up on his elbows and watched Tom struggle through.

Tom managed to most of his body through, but he did it rather awkwardly. He had to awkwardly wriggle on his side, feet first. Still, he was making it. Then Harry felt his smile slip off his face as a familiar voice said with a wheeze, “Found ya!”

It was Billy.

“Grab onto him!” Billy commanded. Harry could almost hear the smug smile on Billy’s face. It was surely there. Harry’s eyes widened as he realized what Billy was saying.

Harry leapt forward. Tom had turned himself as wide as he could go, and he was now flailing at the air above him. Harry saw as hand-shaped voids clutched onto Tom’s shirt and yanked. Tom didn’t budge, though.

“Let go!” Harry yelled, punching wildly at the air through the fence. To his disgust, he didn’t hit anyone. He yelped as someone’s foot connected with his chin, making his teeth clatter terribly against each other. Harry shuffled backwards, grabbing onto Tom’s legs.

“Tom, I’ll get you!” Harry said, yanking back as hard as he could. To his dismay, Tom moved only slightly.

“Harry, just go!” Tom said, out of breath. “I’m making it hard for them to move me.”

“I’m not leaving you!” Harry said, offended. With that declaration, he pulled harder. As it proved futile once more, Harry felt tears prick his eyes.

“Yes, little Harry. Go away. The freak said so,” Billy said scathingly from somewhere past Tom. “We only want to talk to him.”

“Liar!” Harry said, glaring madly in Billy’s direction. “Old boys don’t talk to anyone unless they want to hurt them!”

“I’m not old!” Harry heard someone squawk.

“True,” Billy said. “Pull harder, Sam!”

“I’m trying!” Sam said.

Harry watched as Tom’s eyes met his. They seemed to be fiery and angry. Tom wanted him to go. Tom thought he couldn’t handle himself. He was only a few months younger! Harry would show him.

With that, Harry pulled on Tom’s feet with his hands and something else. He wanted to crow when his magic actually responded to him promptly, despite using it so close to muggles, but that was prevented when Tom crashed into him, falling on top of him.

Tom quickly scrambled off, crouching low to the ground and staring at Billy’s gang.

“That was obvious,” Tom said quietly.

“Did you have any other ideas?” Harry asked hotly. Tom gave him an exasperated look, but didn’t say anything.

“Hey! How did he do that?” Sam asked.

“Luck?” someone offered. It sounded like it could be Edward.

“We’ll get you later,” Billy ominously promised, and Harry could hear the sickening crack of Billy’s knuckles. After a few long, agonizing seconds, where Harry listened with bated breath for any movement which would signal an attempt by Billy to get past the fence, Harry heard footsteps drawing away. Harry sighed in relief. Although he normally cursed Billy’s age, in this case it meant that he was too big to follow them through the fence.

Harry turned to Tom. “Now what?”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tom and Harry were sitting behind a bush in the garden they had broken into. At first, Tom had been hesitant about staying in the garden. It was a very nice garden, bushes trimmed and clipped so that not one leaf was out of place. The flowers, liberally scattered in the far side of the garden, looked absolutely exquisite, not even beginning to wither despite the weather turning. The garden, albeit small, was very well-cared for. Tom had worried that the owner would find them, but one look at Harry’s shivering form had convinced him that surely it would be fine to stay there just for a little bit.

Tom had chivvied Harry behind a large flowery bush to wait for Harry to calm down. Harry had plopped himself down on the ground and refused to move. Tom had sighed, but he stayed.

Tom looked over at Harry. His face was broken up into a mosaic of shadows and dappled light, his eyes almost glowing their bright green. It was ironic how Harry’s eyes were so remarkably vivid, considering that they didn’t see anything but darkness. And magic, of course, Tom thought. He wondered what it would look like. Harry had described it to be like many tiny threads…

“Are you feeling better?” Tom asked. “We should probably go.”

“I don’t want to,” Harry said. “I don’t want to go anywhere. At all.”

“Harry,” Tom started. “The longer we stay here, the riskier it is.”

“I don’t care!” Harry spat, eyes alight with a poisonous fire. “We have magic; we can deal with it, whatever the risk.”

Tom lifted an eyebrow. “You’re the one always telling me about your ‘Statue’ of Secrecy. But you’re the one doing magic near Muggles?”

“I don’t care,” Harry said, hugging his knees closer to his chin. Tom watched him for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” Tom asked hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Harry muttered. “Of course not.”

“Then what is it?” Tom asked. Harry could just tell him outright without dancing around the subject. He was about to blow up anyway.

“I hate feeling useless.”

Tom blinked. “So do I. Is it the Muggles?”

“Yes!” Harry said. “It seems like they’ve been getting meaner lately. First they were bullying you, then they started bullying both of us, and now Mr. Anderson...it’s not fair.”

“Well,” Tom said, quirking his lips, “Mrs. Cole always says that life isn’t fair.”

“As if you ever care about what she says,” Harry said dismissively. “I just wish I could stop them. But my magic won’t even work right for me!”

It was true. Harry and Tom practiced magic every day for at least an hour, and while Tom could get some sort of result nearly every time, Harry’s magic only jumped into action occasionally.

“What do you want to do?” Tom asked. “We already practice every day.”

“I just want to finally figure out why it works better for you!” Harry said. “Then I could do it too, and then I can carefully use it to keep the Muggles from doing bad things to us.” Harry gave him a suspicious look. “Why don’t you ever use it near them?”

“You’re the one who likes to take risks,” Tom said primly.

Harry stared at him. “Tom...why?”

Tom stared back at him, biting his lip. He wasn’t sure how to tell it to Harry. Harry seemed to have strict ideas on what was good and what was bad, and despite Tom’s perpetual attempts to explain his thinking to Harry, Harry only rarely agreed fully with Tom.

“Tom…,” Harry said warningly. “I don’t care how bad it is. Tell me.”

Tom leaned back against the curled iron fence behind him. “If I tried to use magic around them, I think I’d hurt them too much. And then you would be mad at me.” Tom didn’t know how to express how mad and seething he always was whenever someone tried to hurt him and Harry. How his very blood seemed hot and icy at the same time, and how his head seemed to cloud until he had to push back his anger and magic as if it was a heavy blanket pressing into his mind.

“Ah.” Harry looked pensive. “I guess I’ll have to try harder.”

Tom gave him a weak smile. “Or you could support my idea to keep the eyes off of us?”

Harry turned his head away a little, giving a little snort. “Maybe.”

They continued sitting in the shade of the bush, occasionally shifting to move into a larger patch of afternoon sun. Harry had started picking leaves off of the bush and was shredding them perfectly down the centers. Tom had taken to using the discarded leaf halves to form patterns in the grass.

“Do you think someone’s wondering where we are?” Harry asked eventually. “I think we’ve been here a long time.”

“Probably,” Tom said.

“I’m hungry,” Harry said suddenly. As if to punctuate his statement, Tom heard a terribly loud growl of hunger coming from Harry’s direction. It sounded like some sort of scary animal, which Tom thought was really hilarious, as Harry was about the furthest thing from a scary animal that he could think of. Tom started snorting, which eventually made Harry laugh too.

“Do you feel like leaving now?” Tom asked. Harry glanced at Tom.

“Yeah, sure.”

Tom got up, dusting off his pants. Harry got up as well, stretching with a little shiver. “What does it look like here?” Harry suddenly asked. “I never got around to making a picture in my head.”

Tom smiled, not surprised. Harry was always oddly absentminded.

“It’s very pretty here,” Tom began. “The grass is really green and a little further in front of you are a lot of flowers in so many colors. Pink, red, yellow...we were sitting behind a bush with white flowers. To the left is the fence which we slipped through. To the right is an iron bench with iron flowers on it, and behind it is someone’s house. It looks really nice; nicer than the orphanage…”

Tom trailed off, eyes wide. _“Harry! Don’t move. There’s a snake.”_

“What?” Harry asked, voice confused.

“ _Don’t move!”_ Tom repeated, staring ahead. There was a small little snake, no more than ten inches long, just lying in the sun-covered grass just a few feet away from them.

“ _Why not, Speaker?”_

“Tom?” Harry asked. “What’s going on? You sound funny.”

“What?” Tom asked, looking at Harry in confusion. “I just said that there’s a snake ahead. Don’t move.”

“That’s not what it sounded like!” Harry insisted. “It sounded like you were hissing.”

“ _I wasn’t!”_ Tom said, looking back at the snake.

“ _Speaker?”_

“ _Who’s saying that?”_ Tom asked, staring suspiciously at the snake. To his utter shock, the reply came from its direction.

“ _I am, Speaker. My name is Assa. I will not move, but I ask again, why should I not move?”_

“ _Are you...poisonous?”_ Tom enquired hesitantly.

“Tom?” Harry sounded a little panicked. “Your magic is moving funny around your throat? What’s going on?”

_“I am not ‘poisonous.’ The right word is ‘venomous’, though.”_

Tom looked at Harry. “Harry...can you hear it talk? The snake.”

“Wait,” Harry said, shaking his head a little. “You’ve been talking to a snake? Are you serious?”

“Yes?” Tom said. “It said its name is Assa.”

“Oh,” Harry said weakly. “Oh.”

“ _May I come nearer?”_ Assa asked. _“I did not think that I would ever get to meet a Speaker_.”

“ _Sure_ ,” Tom said. He caught a look of confusion on Harry’s face.

“Sure, what?” Harry asked.

“ _Oh_ ,” Tom said, looking back at the snake. _“I don’t think that I can tell when I’m speaking snake or not_.”

“ _It’s called Parseltongue_ ,” Assa added helpfully, drawing closer..

“Tom, can you speak English? I didn’t understand what you said.” Harry asked.

Tom looked at Harry, trying to test out a theory. “I’m trying.” Tom paused. “Was that English?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Yeah. That was English. Real English.”

“ _Good_ ,” Tom said, looking at Assa, who was now curled up in front of Tom’s feet. He slowly bent down, sticking out a hand slowly. “ _Do you want to come up?”_ Tom asked.

“ _Oh, I would love to!”_ Assa cried happily, springing forward and winding around Tom’s grip in half a second. _“Oh, you’re warm!”_

“I think I figured it out,” Tom said, looking back at Harry. “If I look at a snake, I speak snake. Although Assa said it’s called ‘Passeltongue’ or something.”

“Parseltongue,” Harry corrected, eyes focused on Tom’s hands. Tom wondered if he could see Assa’s form outlined against his magic. Wait...how did Harry know what it was called?

“How do you know that?” Tom asked. “Do other wizards know how to talk to snakes?”

“I’m not sure,” Harry said. “But I remember hearing about Parseltongue before. I think it was in one of the stories my parents used to tell me.”

“Is it a rare thing?” Tom asked, getting excited in spite of himself.

“Probably,” Harry said. “The magic around your throat stopped swirling.”

“Did it?” Tom asked, lifting a hand to his neck. It didn’t feel any different from before. “Do you think it was the Parseltongue?”

Harry thought a little bit, but then shook his head no. “No, it’s like that one time that my magic went into you and then you said that you could taste magic. Which is still weird. Why are we both so weird?”

“Because we’re special,” Tom said proudly. “Even among wizards, we’re better than everyone else.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the longest yet. I've been overloaded with research projects lately, so updates have been harder to do. 
> 
> I'll dedicate a one-shot to the person who first guesses the identity of the mysterious new person!


	9. Shattered Skies

**September 18, 1933**

“You thought we would forget, didn’t you?” Billy spat as he threw a quick punch in the direction of Tom’s stomach. Tom twisted awkwardly out of the way, bringing his foot up and flinging it toward Billy in panic. To his brief delight, it collided quite beautifully between Billy’s legs, eliciting a pained gasp.

Billy hunched over, barely standing on his legs. As Tom smirked, split lip be damned, he looked over at Harry with an appraising eye. Harry didn’t look very well, curled up in a ball on the floor. Julian was kicking him alternately with Edward, almost lazily. Cowards.

“Freak!” Billy finally gasped, descending into a brief hacking coughing fit. Billy had acquired a nasty cold one cold winter a few years back, and it had never truly left him. Tom was glad that it didn’t seem to be contagious, as Billy much enjoyed spitting on both Harry and Tom.

“No more than you,” Tom said, jerking his left arm in a half-hearted attempt to get free of Sam.

Billy looked up at him incredulously. “You’re the freak! You and Harry. Both of you. Nasty, freaky demons!”

“Yeah!” Sam said from Tom’s left. “We always knew that you were messed up, but now you’ve gone and infected Harry too!”

“We’re just trying to help, you see,” Austin said, digging his jagged fingernails into Tom’s arm. Tom clenched his teeth but tried not to show any reaction. That would be allowing them to win.

“Stop wriggling like the worm you are,” Billy commanded. “Freak.”

Tom glared at him even as Billy began swinging at him again. Some of Billy’s hits were rather heavy, but Tom knew that he wasn’t getting the worst of it. Billy, for all his bluster and seeming command of the other boys, wasn’t actually that strong. Tom worried more for Harry, as Julian was a fan of football and had a rather strong kick.

Tom’s head whipped to the side as Harry let out a small scream. He watched, shaking slightly with anger, as Edward clutched onto Harry’s face, keeping it from moving as Julian pulled back his foot to give a kick.

Tom knew enough about anatomy that a kick like that to his face, if strong enough, could be quite dangerous. And there was no way in hell he was going to let Harry die and leave him alone in this place. It was time to pull his wild card.

“ _Assa!”_ Tom called with a heavy heart. Assa would be able to assist them this once, but Tom knew what her prospects of surviving past this encounter would be.

“ _Yes, master?_ ” Assa enquired from behind Tom. She had stayed around to watch and worry as Harry and Tom had been ambushed outside of their room.

“ _Help him, please.”_

“ _Of course,”_ Assa said, sadly. “ _Goodbye, Speaker.”_

As Tom finally hunched over, gasping for air as a particular blow landed right in his solar plexus, he heard screams. His arms were suddenly let go, causing Tom to topple over onto his side, writhing like a landed fish.

“Snake!” Sam yelled. “It’s a snake!”

“We can see that, you idiot!” Edward whispered, backing into the dirty grey walls of the hallway.

“It’s the freak’s fault,” Billy said lowly. “He did this. Kill it!”

“No way in hell!” Austin cried, walking backwards without stopping until he hit Sam.

Tom opened his teary eyes and smiled slightly as he saw what Assa had done. She had curled around Harry’s head like some sort of crown and was now swaying slightly side to side, her neck gracefully arched into a serpentine “S,” ready to strike. Harry was lying very still, eyes wide open. He had become used to Assa’s presence within the week that they had had her, but he was still nervous when Assa was too near him.

Julian stepped forward. “I bet I can kick that snake right off of new freak’s head.”

Tom’s heart went cold, and Assa moved.

It was glorious to see, that strike that Assa made. She leapt right off of Harry’s head, body sinuously unwinding in mid-flight from Harry’s head. She was airborne for a short, neverending second before her fangs latched onto Julian’s ankle.

“Run, Harry!” Tom yelled, scrambling to his feet. He lurched toward Harry, grasping wildly at Harry’s shirt and hoisting him up, mentally apologizing as he aggravated some of Harry’s new injuries. The others were stunned in shock as Julian let out a screech, but that would not last long.

Harry stumbled but righted himself, clutching tightly at the fabric of Tom’s shirt. Tom immediately broke into a sprint, racing down the corridor. He turned to the stairs, taking the opportunity to glance for one second to see what was happening; who was chasing them.

Tom wanted to cry when he saw Billy’s foot descend on Assa’s head.

* * *

 

Harry and Tom were stuck in a rather frustrating dilemma. They had ran outside and hid in the freezing metal confines of the playground in the courtyard. Nobody would look for them there, among that twisted expanse of plastic and metal. It was too cold today to properly enjoy it, and it was lunchtime anyway.

Harry’s stomach rumbled, and he tried to place a hand over it to quiet it. It didn’t work. Harry sighed, leaning back into the cold metal tube that he and Tom were hiding in. It felt very soothing on the new bruises that would be sure to decorate Harry’s back next morning. Harry wondered what colors they would be. It was almost like a living decoration. First they would be red, then purple and blue, then they would fade into green and yellow. If not for them being so painful, Harry wouldn’t mind them that much. Harry thought it was really interesting that the injuries would change color like that, but Tom didn’t agree. He was always so irritated when Harry asked him what colors the bruises were each day.

“We need to get back,” Tom brought up.

“I know,” Harry said. “I don’t want to.”

“What do you suggest, then?” Tom asked, lounging across Harry’s crossed legs. He didn’t like the idea of lying in a dirty tube with his good clothes on.

“I wish we could fly,” Harry said mournfully. “Then we could fly up right to our window and keep our door locked forever and only leave that way.”

“Wizards can fly, right?” Tom asked. “You said they rode brooms just like in the stories.”

“We don’t have a broom,” Harry said. “I used to have one, I think.”

“It would be really convenient to have one now,” Tom said. “Maybe we can climb up?”

Harry looked down at Tom’s innocent face. “Are you mad?”

“No,” Tom responded, snickering. “I’m just trying to think like you. You always come up with crazy ideas.”

“No I don’t!” Harry muttered, poking Tom in the ribs and instantly feeling guilty when Tom cringed away. “Sorry,” Harry muttered.

“Do you remember that one time that you thought climbing a tree would get you close enough to touch a cloud? Or the time that you decided that stealing Martha’s books was a good idea?”

“Don’t remind me of that!” Harry moaned, pouting. “That was gross.”

“Despicable.”

“Scary.”

“Horrifying.”

“Icky-er than Mrs. Cole.”

“I can’t beat that one,” Tom said, sighing dramatically. “But really, do you think we can?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said, closing his eyes. “I don’t know anything about the walls underneath our room.”

“It’s too dangerous to check,” Tom said. “Billy and his gang might be around.”

“We have to go back sometime?” Harry offered. “Let’s try it.”

“I regret telling you my idea,” Tom said, heaving himself off of Harry’s legs and awkwardly manoeuvring to the end of the metal tube. Harry picked himself off of the cool metal wall, sighing slightly at the loss, and followed him. He lifted his head too early, though, and ended up smacking it on the edge of the metal tube.

“And here I was hoping your head would be undamaged today,” Tom said sourly, hoisting Harry up. “Let’s go before someone sees us.”

Tom pulled Harry across the courtyard at a frantic pace, slowing slightly when Harry felt the cooler air in the shade of the orphanage brush his skin. Tom walked forward a little, placing Harry’s hand on the worn brick wall and stepping back.

Harry felt the brick under his hands. It was rough and scratchy, cracked in several places within Harry’s immediate reach. The space between each brick was slightly indented, but not enough for one of them to jam the toes of their shoes into.

“Is there anything else here?” Harry asked, moving to the right.

“There’s a window to your right. And a little higher along the wall the bricks are broken.”

“Oh?” Harry asked. “Let me see.”

Harry resolutely ignored Tom’s snort at his statement. “Very funny, Tom.”

Harry heard him mutter, “It was!,” but ignored it. Tom was right about the window. Small, a few feet off the ground. A little bit higher, right next to it, was a chunk gouged out of the wall. It gave Harry a little bit of an idea.

“Hey, Tom?” Harry asked, turning away from the wall. “What room is that window in?”

Tom walked closer, cautiously peering in. “It looks like that old storage room that Billy once locked us in.”

“Oh,” Harry said, shuddering. “I have an idea.”

“Do you?” Tom said. “Please tell me it’s not ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” Harry said, smirking.

“Stop that,” Tom said, glaring. “What is it?”

“I think that we _can_ climb the wall...after we break a few more holes into it.”

Tom was silent for a few moments before sputtering, “How do you propose we do that without being seen?”

It took Harry a lot of convincing back in the metal tube, some intense magical exercise by Tom, and a whole litany of swears thrown in Harry’s direction that he didn’t even know Tom knew, but Tom eventually agreed to make the attempt.

“You know it’ll be worth it!” Harry said cheerily. “Just think about how easy it will be to sneak out!”

“That won’t help me if I die climbing up on that wall,” Tom said, sounding nervous. However, he clambered out of the metal tube and walked toward the wall.

“Wait!” Harry called, tripping as he scampered out after him. “Shouldn’t we wait until dark?”

“Oh,” Tom said, looking sheepish. “I didn’t think of that.”

“I wonder why,” Harry mused, grabbing onto Tom’s arm and pulling him back into the metal tube. “I mean, I’m the one who constantly sees darkness. Why am I more aware of the dangers of being seen than you are? You’re slipping, Tom.”

“I am not,” Tom said, sniffing. “I was just off-balance because I agreed to your silly idea.”

“Sure,” Harry conceded with a smirk, settling back against the metal, pressing his bruised back into it with a small sigh. “Hey, Tom,” Harry said slowly, fighting the urge to yawn, “wake me when it’s time, okay? I want to sleep.”

“Only babies sleep during the day,” Tom muttered. “But fine.”

With that assurance, Harry let the magic in his sight fade away into the darkness of his dreams.

* * *

 

Tom shook violently, eyes wide and staring unseeing at the shadowed brick before him. How, again, had Harry convinced him to do this? Now, he was stuck. On a brick wall. Very high. In the middle of the night, barely able to see anything.   

Tom mentally cursed stupid Billy and his gang because if not for them, he wouldn’t be in this ridiculously terrifying situation.

“I can’t do this,” Tom whispered violently, glaring at the wall, knuckles white as he held onto the wall like a limpet. Below him, he could hear Harry call up encouragements.

“Come on, Tom!” Harry cheered in a voice not much above a whisper. “You can do it. We have magic, remember? Remember that time I told you about when I jumped out of the window and floated down?”

“What if that doesn’t happen?” Tom shot back, voice high and strained.

“I’ll catch you,” Harry said. “I bet I can.”

“Of course you do,” Tom muttered.

“You’re not even that high on the wall, you know,” Harry mused. “You’re actually only like six feet up.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Tom asked. “I can’t even begin to imagine climbing up the rest of the way.”

Tom carefully let go of one of the handholds and flexed his fingers, hissing in pain as the stiffened muscles loosened. With barely a second’s delay, he latched onto the wall again, breathing deeply. He had to focus so that he could finally finish with this. It was too late for them to sneak in through the doors; they would no doubt be caught. He didn’t trust his magic yet with locks, so that option was out.

He stared at the brick, grey in the starlight, biting his lip. He reached for a feeling deep inside him; that feeling that felt like lapping waves of power in an ocean located deep in his chest. When he thought that he had grabbed a hold of it, he directed it to the brick in front of him, focusing singlemindedly on the wish for the brick to be pulled out. He _needed_ that handhold to be formed. And he was going to make it happen. The magic was his; it would listen to him when he called.

When Tom was sure that he had a good grasp on it, he gave it a strong mental shove, feeling it streaming out of his skin in a rather unfocused way. He was used to using his hands to channel his power, but in this case, they were currently occupied preventing accidental death. It felt odd as the magic flowed out of the skin on his face. The taste of the sea grew on his tongue until he could almost smell the sea breeze and seaweed and salt as if it was right in front of him.

Thankfully, his magic obeyed, slowly pushing out the brick located in front of his nose. “Watch out!” Tom called, lifting his body slightly off the wall with shaking arms, letting the brick fall between the small gap he made, falling toward the ground. He heard a muffled curse from below, meaning that Harry had barely made it out of the way.

“Are you stupid?” Tom muttered sourly. “I gave you a few seconds warning.”

“I accidentally went forward instead of back,” Harry said, sounding sheepish.

“Of course you did,” Tom said, sighing.

“I like watching you do magic!” Harry said. “It was totally an accident.”

“Whatever you say,” Tom said noncommittally, carefully grabbing onto the newly-made handhold. Closing his eyes, Tom lifted himself a little higher, shifting one of his legs a little higher up on the wall, taking advantage of a preexisting dent in the wall.

It went slowly, Tom carefully making several handholds with varying levels of success before moving higher. He wasn’t going to let something as silly as being afraid of falling stop him. Of course, some of the handholds would have been better if he wasn’t so nervous, but Tom thought that they lent some credibility. There had been one moment when Tom had wished for the wall to stop existing, which ended up removing a thin layer off of almost twenty bricks. Another moment, he had used too much magic and blasted several bricks half out of the wall.

It wouldn’t do for the bricks to be messed up too cleanly.

Finally, in the end, Tom reached their window, clambering onto the windowsill, leaning half of his body against it. He was panting for breath, arms trembling weakly. He grimaced with distaste at the feeling of liberal amounts of sweat on him. It was too late to rectify that. He could probably wash himself somehow in the sink.

After lying for a short while, catching his breath, he clambered fully inside their room, turning back to the window. “Are you ready to try?” Tom whisper-shouted down the wall.

“Yeah,” Harry said, voice so faint that Tom almost imagined that he heard it. “Tell me where to put my hands, okay?”

“Okay,” Tom said, leaning out further. “Move your left arm - no, the other one; my left - up a little...more left...up a little more. There.”

“Got it,” Harry said, clambering up the wall rather quickly. Tom watched as Harry took a few seconds at a time to run his hand along the wall, looking for more handholds.

“More right and a little higher,” Tom said, watching as Harry found the next handhold very quickly. Tom was a little envious that Harry seemed to be showing no fear. Tom decided to question him.

“Harry?” Tom asked quietly. “How are you not scared?”

“Hm,” Harry hummed, moving up another handhold. “I am scared.”

“You don’t seem like it,” Tom said, wringing his hands a little before shaking his head a little.

“Well, I am,” Harry said, already halfway up. “But my magic saved me from something like this before. Hopefully it’ll work even better now that we can sort of use our magic already.”

“True,” Tom said, heart leaping into his chest as Harry lost a foothold. Harry grunted a little bit, sagging against the wall. Tom watched with wide eyes as Harry shuffled around a little bit before resuming his climb. He wasn’t sure how Harry could simply _do_ that.

“You okay?” Tom asked, peering closer at Harry’s face. It looked...excited, of all things. Harry was _enjoying_ this. Of course he would.

“Tom,” Harry asked, breaking Tom out of his thoughts. “Tell me what the sky looks like.”

Tom looked at Harry suspiciously. Was Harry trying to distract _him?_ Well, he would humor Harry in that case. Tom looked up at the sky, briefly admiring the strange not-brown, not-purple color of the sky.

“It’s a strange color,” Tom began. “I think that all the light from the city is messing with the sky because you can hardly see any stars. It’s almost brown... but it’s also a little purple and grey and blue too. It’s hard to tell... There are really small clouds just scattered all over. It looks...it looks as if someone took an enormous hammer and cracked the sky into lots of tiny grey pieces.”

“That’s an interesting image,” Harry said, causing Tom to jump a little. Harry’s face was right below the windowsill, looking smug. “You were worried, weren’t you?” Harry said, smiling fondly.

“No I wasn’t,” Tom insisted, offering an arm to Harry. “Come on, get in. It would be so...so... _pathetic_ of you to fall just when you’re almost here.”

Harry smirked but grabbed onto Tom’s offered arm, almost wrenching it as he used it to heave himself over the ledge. Harry shuffled around a little, picking himself up and twisting until he was sitting on the ledge.

“Harry!” Tom said, glaring at him. “Get off before you _fall_ off!”

“Okay,” Harry said cheerily, jumping forward onto Tom and hugging him very tightly. “Thank you so much Tom! Now we have a secret path!”

Tom huffed, hugging back. He instantly noticed something odd; there was something hard poking into his stomach. He let go of Harry quickly, grabbing onto his shoulders and pushing him away. Harry’s stomach looked remarkably square.

“What is that?” Tom said, exasperated.

“What’s what?” Harry said, grinning.

“On your stomach,” Tom said, poking the definitely hard substance there.

“Bricks,” Harry said, as if that was all the explanation needed.

Tom stared at Harry as if he was insane. “Why?”

“You never know when you might need bricks,” Harry said, shrugging.

* * *

 

**October 15, 1933**

Harry and Tom were in the middle of their daily magical exercises when they heard an odd, ringing sound. At first, Tom ignored it, convincing Harry that it was probably someone messing around with metal in the attic. However, a few minutes later, someone tried to enter the storage room that they were practicing in.

Tom immediately let go of his magic, irritated that he had to lose grip on it when he had finally got it to cooperate with him reasonably. It took him over an hour to gather it properly to use without straining so hard he felt like he would pop a blood vessel. What a waste. Harry tensed and froze, and Tom detected a hint of wariness in the icy feeling of Harry’s magic.

“Why is this door locked?” they could hear Martha mutter, fiddling with the doorknob. “Is anyone in there?”

Tom contemplated staying silent, but a painful jab to his ribs from Harry convinced him that he was going to be revealed either way. He bit back a sigh, walking to the door and releasing the lock on it. He opened it slowly, smiling in a way he hoped looked shy as he looked up into Martha’s unremarkable brown eyes.

Martha’s mouth tightened some. Who was he kidding; everyone was still suspicious of him anyway, even though he had assuaged some of their fears by not killing Harry within the first day.

“What were ya doing here?” Martha asked suspiciously. “No matter. There’s someone here today that’s looking to adopt. You’re dressed fine; go to the main room.”

“Do we have to?” Tom asked, scrunching his nose in disdain.

“Of course!” Martha said. “You’re the last ones I had to find. Hurry up!” With that, Martha turned around and strode away in the direction of the main room, hands nervously patting down her plain beige dress. Tom contemplated locking themselves in again, but before he could make any kind of move, he was suddenly being squeezed to death.

“Harry?” Tom choked out, trying to wriggle free from what had to be the tightest and most dangerous hug of his life. Not that he’d been hugged that much by anyone except Harry. Not that he could recall.

Harry stayed suspiciously silent. Tom tried turning around in Harry’s death grip, eyes widening when he noticed how Harry was shivering slightly and seemed to be breathing rapidly. What was going on? Harry never acted like this. In fact, it seemed as if Harry was scared of something. Or he was upset. But why? Martha didn’t say anything that seemed like it could make Harry react like this. She only mentioned adoption...was that it?

“Harry?” Tom repeated, hesitantly placing his arms around Harry as well. That seemed to be the right response, as Harry relaxed slightly, although his grip did not weaken.

“I don’t want to be adopted.”

“Oh?” Tom asked. “Most people do.”

“Do you?” Harry mumbled from somewhere in Tom’s shirt.

“Not particularly, no,” Tom said. “Are you...okay?”

Harry moved his head in some vague way that Tom took to mean ‘no,’ though it was rather hard to tell.

“We’ll be fine,” Tom said, mind spinning in all kinds of directions to try to figure out what to do. He was sure that Martha would be rather displeased if they wouldn’t show up. “I won’t let anyone take you away from me.”

Harry was silent for a few more moments before relaxing his hold on Tom. Tom almost began deeply inhaling sweet, sweet magic-scented air again with exaggerated breaths before he realized that it might be rude. “I promise,” Tom said, grabbing onto Harry’s shoulders. “If they really want to take either of us, we’ll scare them both off. For each other.”

“Alright,” Harry said quietly, letting go and backing away. Tom noticed a glimpse of Harry’s face, suspiciously red, but he didn’t comment on it. Together, they both left the storage room and walked toward the main room of certain doom.

As Tom entered the main room, he noticed everyone was lined up according to age and height. He sneered a little at that system; it made the other orphans look like dolls to be chosen from, picked for the correct height and features. Just to spite Mrs. Cole, who was standing imperiously in one corner and giving Tom the evil eye, Tom led Harry over to one of the gaps left for them and shoved the others slightly out of the way so that both of them could stand together. Of course, since Harry was significantly shorter than Tom, it made for an interesting little break in the pattern.

The couple were watching them with amused eyes, something that made Tom seeth internally. They were the threat here. Although he himself knew that he didn’t particularly want to be adopted, the fact that Harry seemed to dislike the idea so much made him decided that he was going to do the best he could to make sure that they were never considered. As if he would let anyone take Harry away!

“Children, these are the Turners!” Mrs. Cole said brightly, the effect slightly dimmed from the rasp in her voice that she had recently developed following a bad cold. Tom felt a little proud, as he was the one who had made a point of trying to transfer Billy’s perpetually snotty handkerchiefs to places where Mrs. Cole would most likely touch. Seeing how Billy was constantly miserable from his sudden bouts of coughing, Tom had tried to do the same to Mrs. Cole.

Tom knew he wasn’t very nice, but to be fair, Mrs. Cole wasn’t all that nice either.

“They’re here to adopt someone!” Mrs. Cole continued. “Say ‘hello Mr. and Ms. Turner’, everyone!”

“Hello Mr. and Ms. Turner,” most of the orphans dutifully recited. Only most of them, though. Tom wouldn’t participate in that nonsense.

“Hello!” Ms. Turner said. “I’m very glad to meet you all today.” She walked up to the end of the line with the youngest children, the toddlers. She talked to each one for about thirty seconds before moving on. After she talked to a few children, her husband went around and began doing the same thing. It looked remarkably like an assembly line of some sort. It gave such a strong impression of window shopping that Tom felt horribly disgusted by the action and the taste of an ocean storm blossomed on his tongue.

Tom was bored with this farce. Ms. Turner was asking such inane questions. “Suzie, do you like flowers? My, you’re a handsome one. Jacob, you said?”

It was as if she expected to find the child she wished to adopt by finding out if they had the same favorite color. “You like green? So do I!” Tom thought moodily. Although there was nothing wrong with green; that was the color of Harry’s almost-glowing eyes.

Ms. Turner stopped in front of Tom, eyes lighting up. Once again, another fly had fallen into the web. Tom knew that he was very good-looking; old women cooed on the streets, other orphans looked at him with jealousy, and if he smiled, Tom knew he could almost always get what he wanted. So, Tom gave her a smile, hoping that it didn’t look quite as fake as it felt. Although the chances of that were rather small; Tom had practiced his expressions in the mirror to perfection.

“Oh, hello there, handsome!” Ms. Turner said genially, smiling widely. “What’s your name?”

“Tom.”

“Hello Tom. I’m Ms. Turner.”

Tom had to fight down the urge to laugh. It was as if she had forgotten that she and her husband had already been introduced to everyone there. “Hello, Ms. Turner,” Tom said politely.

“What do you like to do in your spare time?” Ms. Turner asked, bending her knees slightly and leaning until she was more at his eye level. Tom’s lips twitched slightly in irritation as the scent of her perfume grew stronger.

“I like to cut open small animals to look at their insides,” Tom stated solemnly, allowing a little smirk to slip through. He heard a few sharp intakes of breath from around him, knowing that this ‘confession’ would be basically confirming all of the other rumors about him. Tom wasn’t that worried though; everyone already knew that he was different and avoided him on principle except for that silly Alyssa and the fists of Billy’s gang. Mrs. Cole seemed to think that he was a demonic spirit of some sort.

“Oh, that’s very funny!” Ms. Turner said, but Tom wasn’t fooled. She had straightened up a little bit and had taken a few steps back. “I’m afraid I have to go and talk to the others now!” With that, Ms. Turner turned to Harry.

* * *

 

Harry was shaking slightly. Tom’s presence next to him was calming, but it wasn’t enough. Being lined up in a manner like he was something on display was an unnerving prospect.

He wasn’t going to be adopted today, if he had anything to say about it. He was not going to let some random people stride in, announce themselves his new family, and take him away from Tom. That would be like forgetting his real parents, his dead parents. Replacing him with people who were picking children out of a lineup.

Tom’s magic was playing wildly, looking rather menacing. However, it was relatively well controlled, so Harry didn’t fear it lashing out. He decided to focus on keeping his calm. Currently, it was densely layered around him, almost like a barely tangible, familiar hug.

He wasn’t going to be taken away. Neither would Tom. Tom wouldn’t let anything happen. If Harry knew one thing for sure, it was that Tom didn’t share.

Harry stepped a little closer to Tom’s side. He was right next to Paul, who had an unfortunate problem with body odor. Tom smelled much better. Tom was also safer.

He wasn’t going to be taken away.

Suddenly, Harry’s hearing sharpened as he heard Ms. Turner stand right in front of Tom. As Tom responded politely, Harry almost wanted to scream, “What are you doing? Don’t be polite!” but refrained, instead sticking his right hand deeply into his pocket and proceeding to pull out the threads with only his fingers. A twirl of his finger, a jab with another, and a loop of thread was pulled partially out of the thick fabric of his trousers. Harry twirled it, moving his fingers almost absently in a circular motion. To his dismay, it knotted.

Then, Tom told everyone that he likes cutting open dead animals and Harry knew that everything would be fine.

But that meant that he was next in line.

Ms. Turner took a few steps away from Tom toward Harry, the sound of heels clicking against the floor very loud in the awkward silence. Harry absently reminded himself to congratulate Tom on such a dramatic performance.

Ms. Turner leaned closer and said, voice positively saccharine, “Oh, your eyes are lovely!”

Harry gazed somewhere in her direction, keeping his face intentionally stoic. “Well, they’d be more lovely if I could actually see out of them,” Harry said, crossing his fingers in his pocket because he _could_ see, just not in the way most people would understand.

Ms. Turner was silent for a few moments before sighing breathily and moving on. Harry let out a breath that he wasn’t even aware that he was holding, smiling lightly. He and Tom were free. They stood together, so close that their hands were touching, basking in relief because they wouldn’t lose each other. Harry had to fight the urge to grin obnoxiously, managing to reduce it to an upward quirk of his lips. When Harry glanced up at Tom, he found that Tom had almost the same expression.

Their eyes met, both relieved and laughing at an easy solution to what had seemed to be a difficult problem. Harry’s magic positively danced with joy, and, on a whim, he made it attach itself to Ms. Turner’s clickety-clackety shoes.

When Ms. Turner tripped, Harry couldn’t hold back a small snort. Tom flicked his hand sharply, but Harry knew that he thought it was funny too.

* * *

 

Mrs. Cole hadn’t been happy with them after that. Apparently, the Turners had left, calling the children unnerving, plainly telling her that they were sure that there were other orphanages around with less mental residents.

“Not as mental as someone who wears sticks instead of shoes,” Harry whispered. Harry had thought the description of high heels was really hilarious after Tom had told him about the source of such a clicky noise. He had seen a brief glimpse of them, but he had thought it was a mistake. How could she even balance on them?

Harry decided that women were rather strange and terrifying. Ms. Turner had been walking alright before he had made her trip.

“Shh,” Tom whispered under his breath. They were standing in front of Mrs. Cole’s desk as she berated them for making the orphanage look bad.

“It _is_ that bad,” Harry muttered.

“She heard you, you idiot,” Tom hissed under his breath, which made Harry pale a little bit. Mrs. Cole must have ears like a owl’s.

“So,” Mrs. Cole said, “I have to punish you both for this. You understand? I have to set an example for the others that lying and being rude is not acceptable, especially around parents looking to adopt! Today could have been someone’s lucky day! But you ruined that. So,” Mrs. Cole said, probably pausing for dramatic effect, “I’m taking away your allowances for the unforeseeable future.”

Harry and Tom stood mute for a moment before both bursting into speech.

“No, that’s not fair-”

“Mrs. Cole, we need that money-”

“Silence!” Mrs. Cole said sharply. “You just use it on sweets. You could do without those for a while.”

Harry felt devastated. He and Tom did use their allowances before resorting to stealing, usually. This was unfair. This was...torture! Worse than Billy’s gang. Denying children the candy they rightfully deserve…

“Okay,” Tom said curtly. “Come on, Harry,” Tom said, pulling on Harry’s sleeve. Harry pouted, stomping after Tom. He felt like emphasizing his displeasure to _everyone._ At least he and Tom could steal things.

They both ended up in their room, sitting on the bed and sulking.

“This is inconvenient,” Tom finally said. “The allowance was useful. People would get suspicious if we never bought anything for money.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Harry said. “I guess we have to steal more?”

“You mean candy,” Tom said, staring at Harry. Harry blushed a little, looking to the side. “Candy is really important, you know,” Harry wheedled, opening his eyes a little wider and staring at Tom innocently.

“That doesn’t work on me,” Tom said, crushing Harry’s hopes. “You know we need to steal winter things soon.”

“Do we?” Harry asked, surprised. “Why?”

Tom gave him a look, staring at him in disbelief. “Well,” Tom said, “you _may_ have noticed that in the months since winter we’ve grown.”

“Have we?” Harry asked, surprised. “I didn’t notice.”

“Yeah. You got taller,” Tom said, flopping back onto the bed. “Still not as tall as me, though.”

“That’s because you’re a half-giant,” Harry sniffed. “Just wait. I’m sure I’ll get taller than you someday.”

“We’ll see,” Tom said, smirking. “But we really do need to get a new coat each, at least.”

“Coats are really large, though,” Harry said. “How are we going to sneak them?”

“We’ll have to be really careful,” Tom said. “Losing our allowance is very bad in this case. We could have used it.”

“I guess we’ll have to steal more,” Harry said. Funnily enough, that didn’t bother Harry very much anymore. He guessed that getting candy out of it for so long was enough of a mind-changer for him.

“Yeah,” Tom said. “We have to be really careful, though. We don’t know what she would do next.”

* * *

 

**October 21, 1933**

“Where do you want to go next?” Tom asked, looking at Harry. He strongly hoped that Harry wouldn’t request another candy-stealing expedition. For all Harry’s aversion to stealing initially, he was taking to it rather quickly. Apparently, all it took was positive reinforcement to gain Harry’s support.

“I don’t know,” Harry said, letting go of Tom to spin around in a circle, arms thrown out. One of his arms hit a passing gentleman who gave them a stern look as he passed by.

“Oops,” Harry said, giggling.

“You’re such a child!” Tom moaned, dramatically throwing back his head and flinging his arms into the air. “How will I survive this torture?”

“Stop pretending to be a muggle movie star,” Harry said, widening his stance and shifting a look of utter contempt at Tom. “Manners, cleanliness, and good behaviour are essential for success,” Harry said in a tone that matched Mrs. Cole’s almost exactly. His stance was a little bit off, but Tom could forgive Harry for that.

“You need to look as if I’m below you,” Tom said. “Lift your chin as if you’re looking at the sky.”

Harry followed his instructions, lifting his chin to obscene heights. “Better?”

“Much better, yes,” Tom said. “But we still need to figure out where to go. We keep hanging around the same parts of London. How about we go further? Explore?”

“I like the sound of exploring,” Harry said slowly, tapping his finger on his chin. “You know what? Let’s explore. But only if you tell me everything you see.”

“Fine,” Tom said, used to Harry’s demands. “Let’s go, then. It’s probably a good idea for you to practice using your cane, though.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me!” Harry said, frowning. “I don’t like it. I have you. Why do I need to learn to move around like a blind muggle? When we finally get old enough for Hogwarts I’m sure the magic of the wards will let me see at least a little.”

“It’s good practice,” Tom said. “Especially if Billy gets to you alone.”

Harry scoffed but nevertheless picked up his cane from the floor. “It’s silly and I keep getting it stuck on things and it keeps yanking my arm and my arm hurts from using it. But I’ll use it. Just because I’m nice.”

“Of course,” Tom said, walking off, smirking over his shoulder. Harry’s eyes widened, mouth opening.

“You’re terrible!” Harry insisted, swinging his white cane forward and hurrying after Tom. “If I couldn’t see you, that would’ve left me alone. In the city filled with scary strangers. You’re evil.”

“But you can see me,” Tom said. “So it’s fine.”

“Whatever. But you still deserve punishment for that,” Harry said, flicking his cane to the side, thwacking Tom’s ankle. Tom grit his teeth but didn’t comment on it. That cane was more like a weapon than any aide for Harry, really.

“Alright,” Tom said, hoping to prevent any further attacks. “Let’s head north. So far, nothing but stores. Everything looks a little old and dirty here. Everyone is dressed really fancy, though. There’s a man across the street that’s wearing the funniest hat…”

Tom walked on, Harry shadowing him, idly sticking his cane in front of him and smacking Tom’s ankle periodically. Tom kept up an endless stream of observations, focusing on the funnier things that he saw, knowing that they would pique Harry’s interest. The stores gradually faded into rather tall buildings that looked like they could be housing flats, the other side of the road fading into a small park. Tom carried on, hoping for a place a little bit more exciting than a residential area. He made sure to mark landmarks as they went, though. Their unsupervised expeditions into London would end if they got hopelessly lost.

The sun was bright, but that didn’t take away the chill of the air. Tom’s newly acquired coat proved adequate to take the edge off, but his face soon felt chilled. When he looked at Harry, Harry looked as if he didn’t mind at all.

“Are you cold?” Tom asked, examining Harry. “Even a little bit?”

“Not really,” Harry sighed. “I love this weather. It’s just sunny enough to make it feel pleasant.”

“Of course you like it,” Tom muttered. Figures that someone who smelled of winter and ice would enjoy the cold weather. Personally, Tom wasn’t much of a fan of it.

“Oh, the area ahead looks interesting,” Tom said, looking ahead curiously. “Looks like restaurants and bars.”

“What’s inside a bar?” Harry asked curiously. “I heard Robert bragging about sneaking inside one.”

“Alcohol,” Tom said, frowning.

“Is it that stuff that makes Mrs. Cole really mad about everything?” Harry asked curiously, looking up at Tom.

“Yeah. It makes her mad,” Tom thought wryly, thinking of the rather accurate double-meaning in that statement. Tom turned to Harry again to begin narrating their surroundings when he noticed Harry staring, frozen, at one of the restaurants.

“Harry?” Tom asked, slightly worried. Harry never focused on anything like that. How could he, when he couldn’t see?

“Tom,” Harry whispered faintly, eyes shining with excitement. “There’s a _wizard right there._ ”

“Who?” Tom said, looking at the red-painted exterior of the restaurant. “Which one?” There were three men currently standing in front of the restaurant, two conversing with each other while another was looking at something in his hand.

“He’s holding something blue,” Harry said. “His magic is this really really light green color. It could almost be grey.”

“Really?” Tom asked, intrigued. “Anything else you can see?” Tom felt desperate to know more about this wizard; this one link to the world that they could not reach. Although he wanted to go over and maybe talk to the wizard; force him to do something, Tom shot the idea down. It was better to learn and observe.

“He’s taking something that’s glowing red out of his pocket...I think it’s a wand!” Harry said, dropping his cane in his excitement. Tom stared, looking at the thin black stick that the man had plucked out of his overlarge coat. It looked wholly unremarkable. Suddenly, Harry inhaled loudly.

“Tom...we’ve been doing everything wrong! He just cast magic and I can see it! It’s so...ordered! It’s like patterns and it’s all woven together and there are strange shapes in it and it’s so beautiful…”

Harry’s eyes were shining, focused on that distant wizard. Tom’s mind raced with possibilities. Magic was ordered? Could they possibly order it like that, without a wand? Tom was aflame with curiosity and a need to test his idea.

“Tom,” Harry said, “we need to get home right now and test this. It could change everything.”

“I know,” Tom said, glancing back to the man. Tom wasn’t surprised when the man wasn’t there when he looked back.

“If we can make our magic do those patterns,” Harry said breathlessly, “it’ll probably work easier and I won’t have so many issues with it. It looked so much more efficient and used so little magic…”

A shiver of anticipation trickled down Tom’s spine, not in the least caused by the wind.

* * *

 

_I’m sure some of you more dirty-minded readers got the wrong idea when there was something hard poking into Tom’s stomach. For shame, really. ;D_

_This chapter is turning out terribly long. Planning out my chapters is extending them to ridiculous lengths. Long chapters take a little longer to write, though._

_History notes for this chapter include canes: in the late 1920s and early 1930s people began painting canes white to make them more easily visible. The modern “Hoover” method of usage was developed in 1944, before this time. Therefore, Harry is only using it in the way that comes most naturally to him._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sure some of you more dirty-minded readers got the wrong idea when there was something hard poking into Tom’s stomach. For shame, really. ;D   
> This chapter is turning out terribly long. Planning out my chapters is extending them to ridiculous lengths. Long chapters take a little longer to write, though.   
> History notes for this chapter include canes: in the late 1920s and early 1930s people began painting canes white to make them more easily visible. The modern “Hoover” method of usage was developed in 1944, before this time. Therefore, Harry is only using it in the way that comes most naturally to him.


	10. Blanket Hugs

**November 5, 1933**

It was a horribly cold day.

Tom found himself amazingly displeased with it. Mrs. Cole had had the bright idea of dragging the whole orphanage on a trip to the sea. Normally, the idea of visiting the beach would at least intrigue Tom. He had not spent a lot of time out of London. Visiting anywhere else would be an adventure. But, dragging a whole orphanage's worth of children to the sea in November, of all months?

The water was too cold to swim. It was icy; leeching out the heat from one's skin instantly. The spray of the water was like hail; cold and heavy. It splattered over everyone's clothes, even Tom's, even though he had made an effort to stay away. The beach wasn't even a good one; it was too rocky to reach the water comfortably and the sand underfoot was treacherously filled with sharp stones and broken glass. Tom suspected that the beach was a popular area during the night for parties, although he could not fathom why.

Harry, the git, was absolutely ecstatic. Tom knew that Harry rather enjoyed colder temperatures, but this was going too far. The second that Mrs. Cole settled down on several blankets piled on top of each other onto the ground, the children had been free to do whatever they wished, be it climbing over the rocks or going out into the freezing water. Harry had instantly started pulling Tom toward the sea.

Martha had settled down next to Mrs. Cole, absorbed in her disgusting book. She wasn't going to be any help. Tom couldn't understand how the books she read even became published. He was of the mind that perhaps those books killed people's brains. That would certainly explain Martha's appalling incompetence.

"Come on, Tom!" Harry shouted, voice taken away by the wind. "It's so...fresh outside!"

"It's not fresh," Tom said distastefully. "It's absolutely horrid."

"You just don't know how to have fun," Harry said with a sniff. "Come on, let's go and explore a little bit! We can read later."

"No," Tom said. "It's too cold to go anywhere. And even if I weren't cold, I wouldn't go because it's dangerous. Those rocks are slippery!"

"You worry too much," Harry said. "We're wizards. We're probably safer than anyone else here, and they're all climbing the rocks."

"Of course you want to imitate the Muggles," Tom sighed. "Okay. We'll be quick, though."

Tom never understood exactly why he kept losing all of his arguments. How bothersome. He was going to have to get better are arguing to get his way. It was very upsetting that Tom was so easily swayed. Or...perhaps Harry just had an unnatural skill with forcing Tom to acquiesce?

Tom grabbed onto Harry's hand, walking across the beach. As he stepped around a scraggly patch of dying grass, Tom felt something sharp even through the soles of his new, stolen boots. He paled at the thought of what might have happened if he had thinner shoes, or perhaps went without shoes at all. Tom was suddenly glad about finding such good boots to steal a week before; not only did they look much like the ones the orphanage supplied, but they were also very comfortable and actually fit his feet. He had a good eye for sizes, Tom supposed.

Tom walked up to the closest rock. It was rather large and mostly flat, tilted at a slight angle. The rock was to his knees.

"Up we go, I guess," Tom said, placing his foot on the edge and heaving himself up. Behind him, Harry, still holding his hand, slowly fumbled for the edge with his boots before following Tom up.

"Are you still sure that you want to do this?" Tom asked. Harry's eyes instantly shot up to his to give him a vicious glare.

"Okay, I won't bother you about it anymore," Tom hurriedly assured. "I just wish you didn't keep pulling us into dangerous situations."

As Harry's eyebrows inched even closer together, Tom decided that it was probably best to continue traversing the rocks. For all he knew, Harry had figured out how to blow up someone's head just by glaring hard enough.

Tom smiled back at Harry placatingly before turning around and walking to the edge of the rock. He carefully judged the distance before tensing his knees and saying, "Get ready to jump. It's about three feet. Three, two, one!"

Tom leapt across the gap, Harry sailing after him half a second after, their hands still connected. Harry stumbled a bit on landing so Tom nudged him fully upright again. Harry shot him a grateful smile before letting go of Tom's hand and crouching down.

"Tom, what's in between the rocks?" Harry asked, sticking his head over the gap. "I smell salt but also something really weird."

Tom stepped to the edge and looked down. Lodged in between the two rocks was a large fish, barely heaving for breath. It looked like the tide was receding, leaving it stranded.

"It's a fish," Tom said. "It's silver and it's really large. It's almost a foot long. It's stuck in between the two rocks, and there's not enough water for it."

"Oh, really?" Harry asked, horrified. "We have to rescue it, then."

"Harry, no-." Tom said, sighing. It was too late. Harry had reached in tentatively with his hands and grabbed onto the struggling fish. The fish started thrashing even more violently, spraying Tom with the water that he had been trying so hard to avoid.

"It needs water," Harry said suddenly. "Where's the nearest water?"

"Here," Tom said, grabbing onto Harry's shirt and dragging him to a rock right next to the one they were on. Tom dragged Harry in front of him, positioning him right where the rocks were closest before pushing him forward.

"You first," Tom said, watching as Harry carefully made his way across the slight gap. Tom immediately leapt over to the other rock, pulling Harry to the edge.

"Here," Tom said, crouching down. Harry crouched down next to him, fish held under his ribcage. "Throw it into the water. The water's just a foot down."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, giving Tom the evil eye before releasing the fish from his grasp. With a loud plop, the fish vanished in the dark water, depths unfathomable under the grey reflection of the sky.

"There you go," Tom said. "We've saved a fish. What an accomplishment. Can we go read now?"

"No," Harry said. "Just a little bit more. Then you can even read me that dictionary."

"Really?" Tom asked, eyes lighting up. Harry hated it when Tom wanted to read the dictionary. Even though Harry agreed that it was useful, he had little patience for Tom's recitations. Sometimes, all that would convince him to listen was if Tom read out the words in a particular order that made a story of sorts. Tom knew that it was important to have a large vocabulary; he didn't want to sound common when he finally made it to Hogwarts. Harry had told him about what purebloods were like, even though Harry himself was uncertain what he was.

Tom knew that he at most could only be a halfblood; his mother was obviously a muggle. His father, then, could be a pureblood. Harry had mentioned something early on about people caring about blood status. If Tom sounded refined, perhaps he may be given a chance.

"Yes, I'll read it," Harry said, knees giving a little as he gave an exaggerated sigh. "You have the weirdest idea of fun I know. Stealing, insulting people, blaming things on people, trying to scare everyone else...it's a good thing I'm awesome enough to put up with you."

"I'm awesome enough to put up with your weirdness," Tom said. "That takes a lot of effort."

"Nonsense," Harry said, straightening. Harry put his hands on his hips and gave Tom a superior look that was supremely reminiscient of Mrs. Cole. "My weird is awesome."

"So you say," Tom said, looking around. "Alright. If you'll listen to the dictionary, then we can go on...five more rocks."

"More than that!" Harry whined. "The dictionary deserves at least fifteen rocks."

"Six rocks," Tom said.

"No! Fifteen!"

"Seven rocks."

"Fifteen!"

Tom stared at Harry, sighing. "Harry, that's not how you're supposed to compromise."

Harry looked at him mulishly. "I wasn't trying to compromise," Harry sniffed. "Fifteen rocks. Please! I would go on them by myself if you weren't-"

"No!" Tom said. "We can go on twelve. But don't go by yourself! You know it's dangerous!"

"I don't think anyone is going to push me in," Harry said. "They're all further down the beach. And I'm careful."

"Still," Tom insisted. "Don't go without me."

"Alright, fine," Harry said. "If you don't want me to go alone, then follow me!"

Tom lunged for Harry's shirt, but to Tom's dismay the fabric was already out of reach. Harry had leapt to another rock, teetering on the edge of it as he tried to rebalance. Tom hissed under his breath, leaping forward and shoving Harry's back. Harry quickly rebalanced, looking down at Tom sheepishly.

"I thought I would make it," Harry said, fiddling with the back of his horribly messy hair.

"Of course you did," Tom muttered. "Let's go and play on the stupid rocks."

Harry gave him a look but didn't say anything. They traversed a few rocks, Tom skinning his knees a little at one point and Harry earning a few bruises. The rocks were slick with freezing water in some places, the spray of the breaking waves washing their path with slipperiness. Tom, after climbing seven rocks, decided to take a break, stopping on the apex of one rather mountain-like boulder to admire the scenery. Harry perched on a ledge right below him, swinging his legs as they dangled a few feet above the path they had taken.

The sky was a pale, pale blue, looking remarkably like a shirt that Tom had once had that faded tremendously within a few months. The few clouds were wispy, looking as thin and wild as Harry's hair. They streaked the sky in feathery lines that curled with breezes too high in the atmosphere for Tom to detect. Was that feathery look similar to what Harry saw whenever he looked at Tom? The beach was a uniform grey color from a distance, dotted with a few colorful specks that Tom knew were the other children.

Mrs. Cole and Martha were visible as two small blips of dark color lying in the distance. The other children were little more than small smudges of brown and grey and white dotting the rocks in the distance like specks of dust. The ocean was a deep green and blue color, masked slightly by the pale blue reflection of the sky.

Suddenly, a shove to his back. The reflection of the sky grew nearer, and, with a freezing cold impact, Tom could properly admire the color of the ocean as it grabbed hold of his body and leeched the heat from it.

"Tom!" Tom heard Harry scream before his ears were submerged under the water and all Tom could hear was the roar of the ocean.

Tom flailed wildly, kicking out with his feet as hard as he could to get himself out of the water. His head was tilted up, gasping for air as he kept getting pulled down into the icy water. He moved his arms wildly, pushing at the water, but, to his dismay, it wasn't working. He couldn't even muster the breath to scream for help.

He could vaguely see Harry on the rock, and, behind him, a boy with blond hair who was laughing.

* * *

 

Harry's heart had frozen in shock, fear, and horror.

One moment, everything had been going perfectly. Tom had stopped his complaining and had been starting to enjoy the rocks. Harry had found a perfect ledge to perch on that allowed him to swing his legs as crazily as he wanted without impacting anything. It had been nice. He had enjoyed the chilly breeze, the pale warmth of the winter sun.

But suddenly, Tom fell from the sky above him. Harry had heard a loud splash, slightly relieved that Tom fell into water instead of onto the rocks. But then Harry had remembered that the water was very, very cold, and he was very sure that Tom did not know how to swim.

"Tom!" Harry remembered screaming as Tom's form grew fuzzily distorted. Was that the water? Tom flailed and struggled, some stray drops of icy water hitting Harry right in the face.

Harry heard laughing from above.

He saw red. Someone was laughing. Someone was laughing that Tom was in the water, that Tom might die. In a burst of speed that Harry was shocked that he possessed, he scrambled up the side of the rock toward the sound of that despicable, unknown being that had tried to kill Tom. For what other reason could they have pushed him in so?

The rock had sliced at Harry's hands in his mad scramble. Harry ignored it, however, pushing it out of his mind. His injuries weren't important. He had to stop that laughter first before it decided to push him in too. He had to take revenge.

The laughter cut off right before Harry's face as he pulled himself over the edge of the rock. "Awww, is the itty bitty baby mad that his itty bitty baby friend fell in the water?"

"Why did you do that?" Harry asked, voice high-pitched. "He can't swim!"

"Too bad," the voice said nonchalantly. "He sure looks funny like that."

"Who are you?" Harry asked. The voice was unfamiliar.

"Dennis Bishop," the voice said lazily. "New to this nasty orphanage."

Ah, that explained why Harry did not recognize his voice. Since when did they have a new person at the orphanage, though? Maybe that was why the bell had been ringing the night before they left for the beach. Harry and Tom had ignored it in favor of retrying their new theory on how to do magic.

"Just because you don't like the orphanage doesn't mean that you can be horrible!" Harry said, glaring furiously in Dennis's direction. He suddenly wished that he could see where Dennis was just to make sure that he was experiencing the hatred Harry could feel himself showing.

"His face just ticked me off," Dennis said.

That had been the last straw. Harry yelled hoarsely as he leapt at Dennis, shoving him. To Harry's dismay, when Dennis folded back, there was no rock to stop him. Harry froze, listening to the whoosh of air and the sickening smack that happened a second after. Then, Harry remembered Tom.

"Tom!" Harry yelled again, turning around and climbing down the rock to his ledge. He then jumped down to another rock and slowly inched his way closer to the water, wary of falling in himself. "Are you okay?"

Harry saw Tom still struggling in the water, noticing that Tom's head barely showed clear and unfuzzy. Could Tom even breathe?

What should he do? Harry stared, feeling his eyes prick with coming tears of frustration. Maybe...maybe he could somehow use his magic for it? Harry set his jaw and resolutely focused on Tom, ignoring all else. He had to focus now.

Slowly, the faint sound of the other children playing in the distance faded away. The sound of the waves breaking on the rocks slowly dissipated until all Harry could hear was the faint thrum of his heart beating like a hummingbird's wings. The view of Tom was all he could see, and Harry could feel his magic responding to the call.

He pushed it towards Tom, furiously forcing it into submission because this was important and he could not afford to fail now. Nobody was close enough to help. Even if someone was close enough, Harry highly doubted that Mrs. Cole or Martha would be very effective. It was all up to him.

Thin tendrils of gold slipped forward, seeking Tom and curling around his magic. Following them were thick ropes of dark green, occasionally threaded with a dark blue that matched Tom's. They curled around Tom, slipping through the magic-fuzzying water and pulling. Slowly, Tom moved. Harry could feel his concentration failing, fighting the urge to cry as he saw a few ropes detach and dance around in confusion. He refocused, reinforcing what he wanted in his mind like Tom had suggested. _Bring Tom to me, bring Tom to me_ , Harry chanted mentally.

It took much longer than it should, but Tom was eventually in the water in front of Harry. Harry wasn't sure that he could convince his magic to fully float Tom out of the water, so he leaned over and grasped onto Tom's arms and heaved. Tom's hands scrabbled on the edge of the rock, assisting Harry's efforts. After a few seconds of teetering on the edge, Tom fell onto the rock and sprawled, shaking.

"Tom?" Harry asked. "Are you okay?" He looked down sheepishly. He should have saved Tom sooner instead of confronting Dennis.

"No," Tom breathed, peeling off his soaked clothes. "H-help me get this off. It's too cold."

"Okay," Harry said, grabbing onto Tom's boots and and pulling them off of his wet socks. After a moment of deliberation, Harry pulled those off too.

"C-can you get a towel?" Tom asked, arms wrapped around his chest and knees pulled tight to his body. He looked absolutely miserable.

"Of course," Harry said, shrugging off his coat and carefully wrapping it around Tom. "I'll be back."

Harry jogged off in Martha's direction, remembering that she had brought out several towels "in case someone wants to swim!" He stumbled a few times on the rocks, slightly spraining his ankle in his hurry. Harry made it out onto the rough beach, walking in the general direction that he remembered Martha being.

"Harry?" Martha asked. "Where's Tom?"

Harry reoriented himself to walk in her direction. "Oh, he's uh, back by the rocks," Harry said. "Could I have a towel?"

"Ya wanna go swimming?" Martha asked. Harry could hear a smile in her voice. "Mrs. Cole, see! It's not too cold to swim."

"It is," Mrs. Cole snapped. "Boy, don't freeze to death."

Harry bit his lip, twitching when two towels were dumped into his arms. "There's one for ya and one for Tom," Martha said. "Next time have Tom help ya over those rocks! I'll be having words with him."

"No, I offered," Harry said weakly, turning around and hurrying back. After traversing the rocks another time, Harry found Tom still shaking.

"I'm back," Harry said. "Here, towels."

Tom looked up and grabbed both towels, slipping them underneath Harry's coat. "Thanks."

"No problem," Harry said, sitting down right next to Tom.

"Did you hear who did it?" Tom asked, wrapping one towel around his legs and another around his body. He then lifted the coat and carefully arranged it around the towels. "I saw a blond boy laughing."

"Yeah," Harry said. "His name was Dennis. He's new and thought it would be funny to push you in. He doesn't like the orphanage."

"Neither do we," Tom pointed out. "At least I don't do things like this to people for no reason."

"Yeah, you do things to people so that Mr. Anderson yells at them instead of us. Such a good reason," Harry pointed out without much of a bite.

"It works," Tom said.

"I know," Harry sighed. "Are you feeling warmer?"

"Not really," Tom said. "It's better now but I still feel cold."

Harry leaned over and touched Tom's hand. It was horribly icy despite being buried in towels. "Tom!" Harry said. "You're freezing! You're going to get sick."

"I hope not," Tom muttered. Harry grimaced slightly. The last time Tom got sick, Harry had twisted himself into knots to make him stop whining.

"Maybe I can try to warm you with magic?" Harry offered. "I'm getting better at concentrating."

"Yeah, I noticed," Tom said. "Hey, what exactly did you do to Dennis?"

Harry's eyes widened involuntarily. He looked at his feet sheepishly.

"Harry..."

"It was an accident, I swear!" Harry said, squeezing his eyes shut.

"What accident?" Tom asked, voice curious.

"I...IthinkIpushedDennisofftherock."

"What?" Tom said. "Say that again. Ten times slower."

"I think I pushed Dennis off the rock," Harry repeated, hugging his knees to his chest as well.

"You did?" Tom asked. Harry peeked between his eyelashes curiously. Tom sounded almost _proud_ of that.

"Yes. So what if I did?" Harry asked belligerently.

"What happened to him?" Tom asked. "Is he still alive?"

Harry froze. Was Dennis alive? Did he die when he fell off the rock? What if he fell and hit his head until it broke? What if he was dead? Was Harry a murderer? Harry felt his breaths start to speed up in panic.

"You didn't even check," Tom breathed, voice still sounding proud.

"I'm a horrible person!" Harry cried, leaping to his feet and swinging wildly around, trying to gauge the shortest and fastest route to where...Dennis's bod - no, Dennis - was lying.

"You went to save me instead," Tom mused. "Calm down, I'm sure he's fine."

"How do you know?" Harry said. "I'll be back."

Harry picked his way around the rocks, sighing a little when he heard Tom's light footsteps behind him. "I said I'll be back," Harry said, sighing.

"I wanted to see," Tom said.

"Of course you did," Harry said. He rounded around the big rock that they had climbed earlier, foot hitting Dennis's prone body.

"Merlin!" Harry breathed. "Is he dead?"

Tom leaned over, putting his hand out. "No, I can feel his breath on my hand. He's alive."

"Is there blood?" Harry asked sheepishly.

"Yeah," Tom said, sounding almost surprised. "There is."

"Where?" Harry asked. "Is there a lot?"

"I think his nose is broken. Oh, and it looks like the rock almost tore its way through his cheek!" Tom said, poking.

"Don't poke him there!" Harry said halfheartedly.

"Fine," Tom said, poking once a lot harder before withdrawing his hand. "He's alive. That cheek injury is going to be a scar, though. I think we made a new enemy."

"He made the first move?" Harry offered. "I don't think he should be able to blame us."

"He's not going to see it that way," Tom said, voice filled with a sense of absoluteness. "Can you try to warm me with magic? The wind just got stronger. I don't think I can focus while cold like this."

"Oh!" Harry said. "Of course. Let's go back before he wakes up though."

"Sure," Tom said, kicking at Dennis as he walked past Harry. He offered his hand to Harry. Harry took it, smiling fondly. Tom was vengeful.

Harry pulled Tom to the ledge where he was sitting earlier. "It's a nice ledge," Harry said when Tom questioned him.

"Okay," Tom said, staring off into the distance. "Do your magic."

"Okay," Harry said. "Do you think I should use the thin gold or the dark green?"

"Probably the gold," Tom said, opening the coat and unwinding the towel. "It'll probably work better if I'm not dressed as much?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "If this works, then we'll try it with clothes. Just don't move."

Harry snapped his mind back into focus, staring intently at the dark blue pattern of magic that was purely Tom's. He blocked out everything, even the sound of his heart after a moment's deliberation. He was in silence, he was in focus...he was in the magic.

He could feel it coiling deep within him, dancing around and spinning and curling to the tune of his emotions. Slowly, the extra movements disappeared as Harry's emotions seemed to disappear. _Warm_ , Harry thought. _Make Tom warm._ The magic, his fingers...no, _him,_ all spun out of his body and began investigating Tom. The dark blue magic that was Tom flickered a little out of curiosity but kept itself held back. Harry breathed in deeply and imagined a blanket.

A blanket like the kind he felt once in a store. It was thick and cozy, slightly fuzzy. The threads that made up the blanket were smooth, but Tom had described it for him when Harry asked. The threads had gone up and down, up and down, over and under other threads coming from the opposite direction. It was almost like a net but far closer packed until there was no space between each thread. No space for heat to escape.

Harry watched, almost in a daze, as his magic followed the pattern he had imagined in his mind, weaving a thin, golden blanket of magic that settled down against Tom's skin and wove itself down Tom's body until Tom was a dark blue covered in a fine golden sheet of magic that slowly faded into a darker, muted gold.

Harry snapped back into himself, stumbling a little bit as he regained his balance. "How is it?" Harry asked, looking at Tom's face properly.

Tom's face was...strange. He looked amazingly happy, eyes closed and mouth slightly open. "It's _wonderful,_ " Tom sighed. "For a second it was terribly hot, but now it's the perfect temperature. I don't feel cold anymore. It's...it's amazing. That's it. Next time I feel cold, you're doing this for me. I don't care what you say. I want this again."

"Sure?" Harry said, awkwardly running his hand through his hair. "You could just do it to yourself though."

Tom shot him a look. "No, you don't understand. This feels like a _hug._ "

Harry raised an eyebrow but ceded the argument.

* * *

 

**December 12, 1933**

Tom lay lazily on the ground, struggling to arrange his suddenly boneless arms behind his head. Harry's warming magic was too potent. It was amazing, but Tom always felt so...horrifyingly relaxed. But today, he had no choice. He had begged Harry to go to the park, knowing that otherwise they would have stayed in the orphanage where Alyssa was sure to ambush them.

Harry would be happy with that, but Tom was a completely different person. Alyssa was so...annoying! A gossip who giggled way too much and only gave Harry ideas.

Tom had had to resort to begging Harry to go to the park. When they had arrived, it was too cold to enjoy themselves properly, so they went to their special hiding spot and Harry had warmed the whole area with a particularly large bit of warming magic. Which had led to Tom lying on the floor in such an unelegant, floppy way.

"You don't look _that_ stupid," Harry laughed. "I know what you're thinking." Harry flopped down next to Tom, sighing happily. "Magic is great."

"Yes it is," Tom agreed, arching his back slightly. "So. What should we do today?"

"I thought you had a plan?" Harry asked. "That's why you wanted to go to the park so bad."

"Badly," Tom corrected absently. "I just wanted to get out."

"Of course you did," Harry said. "Were you afraid of Alyssa finding us?"

Tom fumbled around for something to say, but his silence was telling.

Harry sighed. "You could've just _said_ something, you know," Harry said, chuckling.

"Well, I didn't," Tom said. "Can we talk about something else? Or do magic?"

"Sure," Harry said. "You know, it's almost unfair that you can do so many things with magic and yet all I can do is warming magic."

"At least your warming magic is high quality," Tom said. "If you go to Hogwarts and it turns out that you absolutely suck at any other kind of magic, you could become someone's personal magic-blanket. Or set up warming magic in houses. I'm sure there will be _some people_ who don't know or don't want to do it themselves."

"You suggest such goals for my future!" Harry cried dramatically.

"Harry No-Name, the world's best Master of Warming Magic!" Tom said, flourishing an arm at the sky.

"Royalty will be begging for my work!" Harry said, turning over onto his stomach and propping himself on his elbows. "I'll be so rich I'll have three castles and a thousand house elves."

"Money and girls and whatever you may fancy," Tom agreed solemnly before bursting out in giggles.

"Tom, you're laughing!" Harry cheered, punching the air. "Yes, I win!"

"Oh, shut up," Tom said, waving a hand. "Don't blow your wig."

"Okay, okay," Harry said. "But let's practice. I really don't want to only know warming magic. Imagine how horrible it would be to suck at everything but a few spells!"

"Fine. What should we try first?" Tom asked. "I want to try warming magic."

"Okay," Harry said. "Remember what I said about imagining a blanket?"

"Yeah, of course," Tom said, closing his eyes.

* * *

 

Harry smiled at the little furrow that appeared between Tom's eyebrows as Tom began concentrating on pulling his magic together.

Harry thought about what he wanted to do. Well, warming was making heat, right? What if he could make even more heat? Make a fire?

Harry snapped his mind into what he had started calling his magic-mode, eliminating distractions almost instantly and focusing on his magic. What was fire like? This was the hard part. His memories of what fire looked like were rather fuzzy, so imagining it was going to be a little awkward.

Harry vaguely remembered it being orange and moving constantly. He tried to force his magic into a shape he slightly remembered, but it seemed to be reluctant to follow his direction. He hissed in frustration as the magic slipped out his mental grasp, looking to slip back into his body where it could play as it wanted. Then, before understanding what he was doing, Harry grabbed at it.

He jerked at the odd feeling. It wasn't uncomfortable, per-se, but it was decidedly peculiar. His fingers didn't feel anything solid, but there seemed to be a buzzing energy there that was so tightly packed that it gained some substantialness just from its strength. He also had a strange sensation from his magic, feeling something that almost felt like small, intoxicating and strange strands magic holding it in place. Harry let go, bringing his hands closer to his face. There was a different kind of magic in his hands? He strained his vision, trying to see something amidst the normal dark green swirling. There was too many strands of magic to find anything though. Harry eyed his hands suspiciously.

Harry grabbed at a strand of magic that was retreating slightly slower than the rest, flinching a little at the odd, double feeling. Aside from the odd feelings, it was almost like he was holding a strand of thread.

A strand of thread! Harry thought back to his little habit of fiddling with the stray threads that appeared to be constantly breaking free of the constraints of his clothing. Perhaps the magic was amenable to his fiddling?

Almost trembling with excitement, Harry wrapped his fingers around the thread of magic, and, almost without conscious control, he was holding a flame-shaped bit of magic in his cupped palm. It was still dark green like his magic, but Harry thought that he felt some heat coming from it, almost like a real fire.

"Tom!" Harry called excitedly. "Look at my hands! What does it look like?"

Tom's eyes opened, his calmed magic starting to put out tentative feelers again. Harry laughed a little apologetically at making Tom lose his concentration. Tom then looked down at Harry's hands and then yelped.

"Harry! Are you okay?" Tom asked, voice oddly strained.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Harry asked, raising an eyebrow at Tom's tense demeanor. "What is it?"

"Pardon me for saying so," Tom said, "but you have a bloody ball of fire in your hands."

"Do I?" Harry asked excitedly. "It worked! Merlin, it worked!"

"What worked?" Tom asked. "Did you _want_ a big ball of fire to be in your hands? How is it not cooking you?"

"I don't think it's really fire yet," Harry said. "It still has my magic in it, sustaining it I think. But if I pull my magic out and just let it support the fire with fuel and energy, then it could probably burn me."

"Don't pull your magic out, then!" Tom said. "How did you even get that to work?"

"Tom," Harry said, pinching the thread of magic in his hands and pulling it apart, "I can _touch_ magic."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Tom said. "This is another level of weird now."

"Yeah," Harry said. "I see magic and touch magic, you taste and smell magic. Now what are we missing?"

"Hearing magic," Tom supplied. "This is ridiculous. Are you sure you haven't heard of anything like this?"

"Nope, my parents never mentioned it. Maybe some people can do it, but I wouldn't think it was common."

"Brilliant," Tom sighed. "So you can touch it now?"

"Yup," Harry said. "It feels funny too. Wanna feel what it feels like to have your magic touched?"

"Sure," Tom said, movnig closer. "What do I do?"

"Just stay still," Harry said, looking over Tom for a suitable bit of magic to grab. He noticed one that seemed to be similar in size to the one that Harry had manipulated earlier. Harry reached for it, grabbing it. Tom jerked, staring at Harry with wide eyes.

"That feels really weird," Tom said, drawing out the words.

"I know," Harry said. "Imagine feeling that _and_ feeling buzzing against your fingers. That's what happened when I tried to touch mine. How didn't we notice this before?"

"I don't know," Tom said. "Maybe it's a spontaneously appearing thing. Everything else did happen suddenly."

"Hey...," Harry said. "What if I can use this to show you how to move your magic?"

"Like, teaching?" Tom asked. "Go ahead. Make it into warming magic."

Harry beamed. "You'll get this in no time!"

"I better," Tom said. "Now go ahead and start, this feels really strange."

"Okay," Harry said, letting his hands loop the magic around his fingers and pushing the magic into place. After a minute of guiding the magic into the blanket formation, as Harry called it, it started weakly moving itself into the pattern.

"Like that," Harry said. "Just a lot faster. And pull this part tighter," Harry said, yanking on a thin, hair-like thread that looped out from the main pattern. At his words, the thread was pulled into the pattern.

"There you go!" Harry said. "That looks good. Now you actually have to put it on something. Try me."

"Okay," Tom said, biting his lip and concentrating. Harry watched as the blanket of magic, a little messier than his own, practiced blankets, moved toward him. Harry let it settle against his skin, sighing a little at the warmth the blanket radiated into his skin.

"It worked," Harry said, laying back against the ground. "It does feel really good."

"Told you," Tom said. "It's different when someone else does it to you, I guess."

"Mhm," Harry hummed. "Imagine all the possibilities, Tom!"

"I am," Tom said. "But I have to ask. How do you know how you're supposed to move it?"

"I just know," Harry said, looking away. "It's like the magic knows what has to be done and it somehow tells me and my fingers just know what to do."

"I wish mine would tell me what to do," Tom said. "Remember how we would just fling out magic out and hope that it would do what we wanted?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "But now that we know how magic likes to be arranged, we can be neater about it."

Tom stood up, brushing all of the dirt off of his coat with a flick of his magic. "I feel like I could just run now," Tom confessed. "That thing you did was awesome."

"Really?" Harry said, popping up. "Do me?"

"Okay," Tom said, turning to Harry and flicking his magic to clean the dirt off. "You're clean now."

"Let's run then," Harry said. "I wouldn't mind running. Give me a moment to stop the warming magic."

Tom waited patiently as Harry called the magic creating the warming blanket back into him. He shivered a little bit as the warming magic disintegrated into small threads and funneled back into him, compressing itself until it all mostly fit within the confines of his body. Harry shook himself a little bit before walking forward.

"To the duck pond?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Tom said before suddenly taking off. Harry yelped and raced after him.

"Tom! You didn't count down!"

"Pfft, I never do!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blow your wig - a phrase from this era which meant to become very excited.
> 
> If anyone can find some more lists of common British slang from the 1930's, I'd love to see them. It's fun to learn about language trends. 
> 
> Did anyone get my little crack at Lockhart earlier? Sucking at anything but a few spells? Well, Lockhart definitely became a Master of Obliviation...
> 
> Additionally...How many people once again got the wrong idea from the phrase, "do me?" They're kids, people. ;D Last time, I had a few people confess that they thought the wrong thing at first.
> 
> Lots of magic this chapter. I'm trying to space it out, but certain things must be accomplished before I can go all time-skip on y'all. I suspect I am at least 2/3 done with their childhood...


	11. Of Ice and Knives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check trigger warnings in endnotes.

**February 9, 1934**

The mistake was horribly elementary.

It had started out so well, too. Tom and Harry made sure that they were wearing their bulkiest coats and scarves. Wintertime was the most profitable stealing season, as their bulky clothing provided good cover for the stolen goods. Tom and Harry had scouted out the store they were planning to steal from a few days before and made their plans.

The store was new, located not too far from the orphanage. Mrs. Cole had made everyone visit there in an attempt to endear the orphanage children to the newest people in the neighborhood. It was no doubt an attempt to subdue the rumors of the 'nasty, rude orphanage kids' that was no doubt perpetuated by Billy and his gang. His gang which now included Dennis, a rather nasty character, as Tom and Harry both knew.

The store sold clothing. Tom and Harry had tried on their clothes from a few months before, but, to their shock and joy, they had grown considerably. But, this meant that they both needed newer clothes that fit their longer appendages. Harry could fit into a lot of Tom's old clothing, but Tom needed a lot more. Their allowance was still on hold by Mrs. Cole so if they wished to wear decent clothes, they had to raid that store.

It was so near and so close. It was too tempting; a pomegranate seed right within easy reach. They didn't expect the acquisition of a few new shirts each to have such terrible consequences.

It had begun fortuitously. Tom and Harry had been joking around, suggesting shirts to wear to each other. After Tom had poked Harry in the shoulder, signaling that the owner had left into a back room, Harry snatched one of the shirts. He slipped it into the inside pocket of his coat with a quick movement before closing it. Tom had checked too, grabbing the pale blue shirt that he had been eyeing. But, as Tom tried to stuff it into his inner coat pocket, the shirt had caught on the wooden rack. Tom, starting to panic, yanked at it instead of taking his time unhooking it from the wood.

The second that the shirt had jerked free from the rack and began heading to the inner pocket of Tom's coat, the owner had walked back inside. Tom remembered the moment that the man's eyes fell on the shirt peeking out of Tom's coat, eyes widening.

There had been a moment of stillness as if the world had stopped, the air disappeared, and flies everywhere dropped to the ground as their wings pushed against nothingness. It had seemed to last forever, but it was short. Before Tom could stutter an excuse, the owner had moved forward, eyebrows snapping together as if they were magnets that had just realized that they were opposite poles.

Tom had shoved Harry, yelling "Run!"

Harry, eyes wide, had leapt into action, dodging a few racks of pants and clothing with the grace of a deer. Tom had followed after him, trying to squeeze between the racks in the most direct path out of the store. Tom could hear the owner behind them, yelling "Thieves!"

That was probably their downfall. Harry had crashed into a woman who had paused in front of the doorway, most likely curious for a glimpse of the thieves. They had fallen to the ground in a tangle, Harry rolling away and scrambling to his feet. Tom hovered next to him, yanking Harry on his arm as he tried to get up, turning towards the street. He thought they could dash across the street between a few cars...but alas, it was not to be.

That had been enough time for the owner to traverse the small distance of the shop and place a large hand on Tom's shoulder.

"Now, where are you going, boy?" the owner had snarled. "Filthy thieves. Stealing our money in this economy?"

A hand shot out and grabbed onto Harry as well, who had squeaked. "You too, boy."

The man had maneuvered Tom and Harry to the side, apologizing to the fallen woman for the accident. Tom and Harry had exchanged terrified looks. They had never been caught before.

The woman picked herself off the ground and walked away after shooting Tom and Harry a glare. The owner rounded on them, spit spraying onto Tom's face in his fury.

"You're orphanage brats? I shoulda listened to Heziah and made my store elsewhere!"

Harry cowered, squeaking out a faint "Sorry."

"Sorry doesn't cover it. I'm going to drag you both right to that Cole woman and let her deal with you." The man shoved Harry into Tom, unbalancing them. He shoved his hand in Tom's coat and pulled out the blue shirt, giving it a once-over before throwing it onto a shelf in the store.

"Running away won't help ya," the man scoffed as he turned and locked up his store. "I know where you brats are from."

Harry looked down sheepishly, pressing closer to Tom, his magic smelling bitter. Tom wove some magic around Harry in a weak warming charm, slow and careful. Tom still wasn't good at them - Harry's explanations of weaving could only do so much - but he knew enough to try. Perhaps that would comfort Harry; warming charms did feel like hugs, after all.

Harry wove one back around Tom without delay, who relaxed the tiniest bit. It was a nice reminder that they'd be together in this situation, no matter how badly it might end up.

The man turned back without warning, hand reaching for Tom's shoulder. Tom felt the warming magic dissolve away, reluctantly releasing his own. The man grabbed onto both of their shoulders and marched them down the street, heading toward the orphanage. It was still rather early, so the amount of people outside wasn't too great. Tom thanked that circumstance. It wouldn't do for him and Harry to be recognized by face as thieves...they could at least hide behind the anonymity of being two of many orphans if the owner of the store talked around, assuming that the owner didn't realize that Harry was blind. That would be a rather distinctive detail; everyone knew Harry by now.

The walk felt like a marathon, although Tom knew that it was only five buildings down the street. The man shoved them through the open iron gates of the orphanage, sneering at the other orphans playing in the courtyard area. Before they walked into the orphanage, Tom caught a glimpse of Dennis's smug, smirking face. Tom sneered back with more confidence than he felt.

The owner stopped in the lobby. "You there," he said, pointing to Amy. "Where can I find Mrs. Cole?"

"She's on the second floor," Amy said with a trembling voice, stepping back a little. "You'll see her office right away."

"I better," the owner said, pulling Tom and Harry behind him.

Tom and Harry took their time up the stairs. The way the man had pinched their shoulders right along the neck muscles was rather painful if they didn't mirror his movements exactly. As they turned onto the landing, the owner cast his gaze from side to side before yanking them toward the office. The man knocked.

"Come in!" Tom heard Mrs. Cole call. She sounded a mite irritated.

The owner shoved them before him. "Open the door and walk in first," he commanded. Harry gave him a fearful look but opened the door, Tom following him without a sound. They trudged into the office, lining up in front of Mrs. Cole's desk. Tom saw Harry hang his head and copied him, letting his hair fall into his face. Their eyes hidden from view, they exchanged another look. Tom sighed a little, knowing that what was coming would not end up well for either of them.

"What is this?" Mrs. Cole asked, standing up. "Oh, Mr. Williams? Why are you here with these boys?"

"I caught them stealing," Mr. Williams said. "I got back one of my shirts from this one here," he said, jerking his thumb in Tom's direction, "but I haven't checked them for anything else. I expect compensation for this! You promised that your orphans were well behaved!"

"They are!" Mrs. Cole said hurriedly. "This is the first time that I've heard of this happening!" She shot Tom a particularly suspicious look. "I'll make sure it won't repeat again," she assured.

"Figure out a way to teach them that stealing is wrong. Or I'll do it myself," Mr. Williams said ominously. "I suggest mandatory church attendance. Maybe some proper Christian values would keep them from trying to ruin my business!"

"Of course!" Mrs. Cole said. "I'll make the whole orphanage attend. It won't happen again."

"It better not," Mr. Williams said.

"Go, boys," Mrs. Cole said. "I'll deal with you later."

Tom and Harry slowly backed away, avoiding getting too near Mr. Williams. When they reached the door, they slipped through at lightning speed. As they left, they heard Mrs. Cole offering a scotch, voice tense with suppressed worry.

Tom and Harry walked down the hall and up the stairs to their room. Once inside, Harry threw himself right onto the floor, collapsing in a heap. Tom shot a look towards their bed, but thought better of it. He dropped to the ground as well, folding himself neatly into a sitting position instead of sprawling like Harry had.

They sat there, silent, for a long time.

"We really messed up," Tom said.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Yes, we did."

"It was my fault," Tom bit out. "I panicked."

Harry turned his head to look at Tom. "It can happen to anyone," Harry said, voice even. "I don't blame you for it."

Tom looked at Harry as if he had gone mad. "Why not?" Tom asked. "It was my fault that we started stealing in the first place. It was my fault we someone caught us. I was stupid and reckless."

Tom breathed deeply for a few seconds, hanging his head. "I feel stupid for actually admitting this too."

"Tom," Harry said, voice admonishing. Tom looked at him, raising an eyebrow with a wry smile.

"Nothing you say will change the truth."

"I can try," Harry said. "If you didn't start stealing, we would have frozen this winter. Or we could have gotten really badly sick. I heard that if someone gets too sick they can actually die. But we didn't."

"It was still risky, though," Tom said.

"Yeah, but I got so much candy from it, especially in the beginning, that I don't mind," Harry said, closing his eyes and smiling. "It was fun too. Don't you think so?"

"Yeah," Tom said slowly. "It was. But it was still my fault we were caught."

Harry snorted. "I don't understand why you keep repeating that."

"Because it's true," Tom said, voice bitter. "It's true. And who knows what's going to happen now. We already don't have an allowance."

"Tom," Harry said. "Almost every time that Billy and Dennis and everyone else catches up to us, it's been my fault. Half the time you get hurt more because you shove me ahead. Now," Harry snickered wistfully, "we're finally even!"

"That's not how it works," Tom protested, but Harry poked him in the ribs, causing Tom to jerk.

"It works because I said so."

"You can't just change things just to suit you," Tom said.

Harry lifted an eyebrow, mirth showing in his glowing green eyes. "Can't I?"

Tom stared at him in confusion before jerking as his shirt grew longer. He sighed. Trust Harry to make a point that way. Now if only their magic could make them new clothes. That would be brilliant.

"Magic!" Harry sang. "So now stop being all mopey and think of a way to get out of this. Or something."

"You're ridiculous," Tom said, but inside he felt lighter.

"Of course," Harry. "That's why I'm so fun and why you keep me around of course."

"If you say so," Tom said, the corner of his mouth turning just a little bit up. "Now, if you could figure out a way to actually make new clothes..."

* * *

 

Needless to say, Mrs. Cole was not pleased with their thievery. She seemed to have come to the correct conclusion that it was not the first time that they had stolen something. Of course, she probably only thought that the stealing began when their allowance was retracted. Harry didn't bother to inform her that it actually started much earlier.

After a long speech, presenting with an oddly shaky voice and the overwhelming use of veiled invectives, Mrs. Cole declared that everyone in the orphanage was to attend church regularly. Something about learning morals and understanding God.

Before, church was optional. Of course, it had been encouraged by the orphanage, but in the end Mrs. Cole feared for the orphanage's reputation if someone was forced to go and caused trouble. Because of that, Harry and Tom had been left to stay at the orphanage with Martha and a few other orphans who didn't feel like communing with God.

Harry had been glad of the fact that it was not mandatory. He knew that he was probably overreacting, but he remembered enough stories from his childhood to remember that there was something dangerous about religion and and magic. He was a little bit fuzzy on the details, despite having a very good memory, but there was something there. Something about fire, perhaps. Harry was sure of that, although he couldn't imagine how exactly the church sermons he heard about connected to that.

However, now, being forced to go...Harry felt horribly nervous. He was sure that going to the church was a bad idea.

Two days later, it was time. It was time to go to church. Harry pressed in close to Tom, trying to take comfort from Tom's solid presence. Tom hummed a little under his breath, admonishing Harry for fidgeting. Harry couldn't help it though. He just felt...worried. Something was going to go wrong. Harry wasn't sure if it was the dampness of the air, the sharp crunch of a twig on the walk there, or the unnatural heat of the day that made him think so, but something was off.

Of course, Tom called him silly and superstitious and proceeded to drag Harry forward. "We'll just get it over with," Tom said, voice filled with obviously false cheer.

"I don't want to go," Harry said, clenching his fists when he heard the collective group of orphans stop around them. "Are we there yet?"

"Yes," Tom said. "We're here. The church isn't very large. Lots of sharp angles and lines. There are some oval windows that have colored glass in them. They're dark right now; no idea what picture is on them. It's a golden color brick and it has one really large spire that's shaped like the tip of a needle."

Harry tilted his head, imagining it in his head. Tom had given him a description before Harry thought to ask for one.

"Large wooden doors. A few steps to go up. And...oh," Tom said, shifting next to Harry. "It's time to go in."

Harry sighed, looking fearfully in the direction of the church. He could see no magic there. He wasn't sure if that was a consolation or something else.

"You have to admit, it'd be interesting to listen to what they have to say," Tom said. Harry huffed at him, ignoring Tom's attempts to change Harry's mind. Harry trusted his gut feeling. Tom could talk all he bloody liked.

Tom started moving forward, Harry jumping forward to fall into step beside him, shoulders brushing. When Tom moved slightly away, Harry followed, endeavoring to mimic Tom's movements. Following this system, Harry followed Tom to the pews. The small church was packed with people, Harry almost tripping on several peoples' legs and definitely crashing into at least two people. Harry distractedly muttered apologies, turning sideways as he saw Tom choose a place to sit. Harry sat down next to him, breathing in deeply.

The air tasted strange. There was some sort of aura to it; a feeling of otherworldliness. It felt ancient and new at the same time, a strange juxtaposition of old and cold, stone new. Harry leaned into Tom again, shivering slightly. Even though Harry was wearing his coat, something about this place seemed to chill him to his very bones; something quietly whispering that he was in danger here.

Tom seemed unaffected, which was rather strange. Tom normally despised the cold. Harry lifted his head as he heard people's voices die away. Then, mass began. Harry floated mentally, somewhat listening but mostly drifting. He felt too uncomfortable in there; his paranoia only worsened by the minute, for some unfathomable reason. The air felt dry on his skin. The voices echoed hollowly around the walls, giving the impression that they were in a vast space, although Harry knew it was not much bigger inside than the orphanage.

Harry felt Tom inhale sharply in irritation, Tom's hand falling on Harry's knee and squeezing a little strongly. Tom must have noticed that I wasn't paying attention, Harry thought. Harry tried to relax and pay attention, but he felt nothing but vague irritation and discomfort. When it ended, Harry burst to his feet, stumbling through the crowd to make it outside. When he slipped out the doors, he stood in front of the church, feeling the humid air that had been suspiciously absent in the chuch. He breathed it in, letting the cloying mugginess of London's street fall on his tongue and wash away the taste of places he must be forbidden to be in.

Tom walked up behind Harry, his step a little hesitant. "Harry?" Tom asked. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Harry didn't turn, still breathing as deeply as he could manage. "I don't know, Tom," Harry finally said. "I just feel...unwelcome. At first I thought it was the stories I remember from when I was little, but it felt different. It was almost as if the church was telling me to go away."

"It's a church," Tom said. "A building."

"I know!" Harry said, sighing sharply and pivoting on one foot to begin to follow Mrs. Cole's sharp voice back. "I still can't forget it."

* * *

 

**March 11, 1934**

Tom sighed, sprawling a little on the pew. It was a bit uncomfortable, being made of rougher-hewn wood than the others. The previous pew had cracked during a sudden freeze, so a hasty replacement had been made. Tom and Harry were one of the last to file in that day, so they were stuck sitting in it with Alyssa. Well, Tom thought, at least someone's rather pleased with the developments. Tom peeked at Harry, who was carrying on a furiously whispered conversation with Alyssa while trying to appear as if he was looking forward.

Harry still persisted in keeping up his friendship with Alyssa. Tom sighed quietly. She was just so dull. Tom tried to focus on the words of the sermon, but he found that it once again was some sort of drivel about always being good. Although the words sounded pretty, Tom found himself strongly disagreeing. It wasn't exactly possible for most people to be good. The world had no room for people who were good; everyone just always took what they needed. Someone good wouldn't survive.

Tom belonged firmly in the latter category, but he was still unsure of where Harry lay. Harry sometimes came up with the most devious ideas for implicating their classmates or stealing something, but he sometimes spoke up and stopped Tom for lesser matters. Tom had tried to explain to Harry that always trying to be good was never going to end well, but Harry had only looked pensive and didn't respond.

Tom wished very, very strongly that Harry stopped being good and focused on himself. He wasn't sure what he would do if Harry got hurt.

Oh, the sermon had changed tone. Now it was lecturing on demons or something silly like that. As if angels and demons actually existed! It sounded too fantastical; like a story meant to attract people's attention. Tom thought that perhaps people took it too literally. Tom mentally entertained himself with silly images of demons throwing people he disliked off of the third floor window of his and Harry's bedrooms for the rest of the service.

There was a quiet susurrus as people stood up, clothes rustling. It must be over, Tom thought. And good riddance, giving a particularly sharp look to Alyssa. She didn't notice it, however, which made Tom fight down the urge to sniff a little. He'd practiced the look in the mirror for purposes such as these...not that he would ever admit it.

"Let's go," Tom said, grabbing onto Harry's arm and determinedly pulling him away from Alyssa.

"Fine," Harry grumbled, manuevering until he was walking beside Tom, poking his side. "I thought you stopped hating Alyssa," Harry whined.

"I did," Tom said, making his voice sound as if he was hurt that Harry didn't believe him. "I just strongly dislike her."

"That's not very different," Harry sighed, smiling crookedly.

A familiar, sharp voice rang out behind them. "Tom! Harry! Over here, please."

Tom looked around, seeing Mrs. Cole standing suspiciously on the other side of the church. Next to her was the priest...Father Something. What did she want? Tom didn't trust her.

Harry looked at him, face nervous. The taste of magic in the air soured a little, making Tom wrinkle his nose slightly. Tom hated the smell of Harry feeling unconfident. Tom smiled reassuringly, seeing Harry relax slightly. Harry then took the initiative, stepping forward and pulling Tom half a step after him.

They walked across the whole of the church, feet echoing loudly off of the stone floor. The church was already empty, all attendees probably grouped outside and enjoying conversation. The length of the church seemed irrationally long, although Tom knew that was just because he was feeling a little nervous himself.

Tom and Harry stopped a few feet away from Mrs. Cole and the priest, who was looking at them curiously. Tom stared right back at the priest's pale eyes, barely visible among the wrinkles of his face which seemed determined to succumb to gravity and cover his eyes completely.

"Tom and Harry, correct?" the priest asked. Tom mentally scoffed at the question. Obviously they were; Mrs. Cole had called them by name earlier, after all. He stayed quiet, raising an eyebrow at the priest.

"You can call me Father Henry."

Tom stared at Father Henry in silence. Next to him, Harry was determinedly looking away from everyone, something that made Mrs. Cole, standing next to the priest, grit her teeth. The awkward silence continued for a fantastic thirty seconds before Mrs. Cole broke it.

"Have you forgotten your manners?" Mrs. Cole said, face tense as if it had been a Herculean effort to speak without expletives in front of the priest.

"I had nothing to say," Tom said. Next to him, Harry piped up, "Neither did I."

"Aren't you even a little bit curious why we have called you here?" Father Henry asked kindly, staring at them with a small smile on his face.

"No," Tom said, face sullen. He didn't feel like playing along with this farce of a conversation, whatever it may be.

"Well," Father Henry said, "I'll tell you. In confession, I heard a very strange story."

Tom stared at the priest, fighting the urge to allow his mouth to fall open in shock. The priest was blatantly talking about what had been told to him in secret? That was a low move. Harry seemed to agree, narrowing his eyes as if he could hurt someone with his stare.

"I thought that confession was private," Harry said, voice quiet from what Tom could tell was suppressed irritation, lacing the air with a sharp, astringent taste.

"I was worried about what I heard," Father Henry said, brushing their statements off. "I will not be mentioning names, but I heard a few stories about some strange incidents involving you too that I wanted to ask you about. Is there anything you would like to tell me?"

Tom raised an eyebrow, forcing a mask of nonchalance into his face. He could feel his heart beginning to pound loudly in his chest. It couldn't be that; that priest couldn't have found out about their magic, could he? Tom racked his brain for anything else that the priest could be alluding to, but nothing came up. The taste of ocean on a metal blade slipped over his senses, mixing with the acerbic ice already present. It wasn't a comforting feeling.

"There's nothing, sir," Harry said. "We have no idea what you're talking about. I do have one thing to say though; yesterday Billy tried to push me down the stairs. Are you going to confront Billy about that too?"

Father Henry's lips narrowed. "There must be something," he said.

"There is," Mrs. Cole said. "I told you."

"I don't know what you're looking for," Tom said. "So obviously, whatever you want to hear will not be coming from us." Tom looked directly at Mrs. Cole. "May we go now?"

Mrs. Cole raised her eyes to the vaulted ceiling, sighing. "Go."

Tom didn't need to hear her twice. He grabbed onto Harry's arm, which was already reaching for him, and turned on his heel, striding past the pews.

"Too fast," Harry whispered, slowing down. "We look suspicious."

"I don't think anything we do would change their ideas," Tom hissed but he complied, slowing down to a more leisurely pace that felt uncomfortable given the situation.

"We can try," Harry said, glowing green eyes examining Tom's face. "Let's hope that they'll forget."

"Unlikely," Tom said, "but hope isn't enough. No magic for the next few days, alright?"

"I know what you mean," Harry said. "I'm getting a bad feeling about this; worse than when I first walked into the church. Whatever it is...I think it's a warning."

* * *

 

**March 14, 1934**

It was a few days later that the worst happened.

It started out fairly innocent. Harry and Tom had been making their way home from school, lagging behind the crowd of other orphans that were clogging the sidewalks thicker than the porridge they'd been suffering the delights of for breakfast lately. The sky was cloudy, releasing a slight chill unto the air. Tom had been bantering with Harry about their self-imposed ban on magic before Harry froze.

"Tom," Harry said, staring straight ahead. Tom surveyed him; Harry's eyes were truly sightless right now, almost glazed.

"Harry?" Tom asked, moving himself until he could stand in front of Harry. Harry wavered from side to side before his knees weakened. Tom's hands shot out, grasping underneath Harry's arms to keep him up.

"Harry?" Tom repeated, awkwardly trying to manoevre Harry toward a bench he could see several meters away. "Are you okay? Answer me?"

Harry did not answer. Tom started cursing under his breath with the foulest swears that he had heard some of the older orphans employ when they were sharing a stolen bottle of gin in the first floor room that Tom and Harry practiced in. With a great heave, Tom managed to drop Harry onto the bench. A heavy weight released, Tom windmilled his arms but it proved inadequate, falling in a rather undignified way onto the ground. Tom looked up at Harry. Normally Harry got a kick out of Tom messing up, but Harry was still staring forward at something Tom could not see, eyes flicking wildly.

Just to be sure, Tom looked around in the direction of Harry's gaze. Perhaps there was someone magical about, although Tom could not think of a reason that Harry would grow practically comatose upon seeing anyone.

Tom stood up, brushing the dust off of his hands before grabbing at Harry's body and shoving it slightly to one side. Tom then plopped down next to him, rubbing at a sudden ache that appeared in his lower back.

"Harry?" Tom asked, waving his free hand in front of Harry's face. "Seriously, Harry. You're scaring me."

Even that admission did nothing.

Tom leaned into the curve of the bench, hissing a little when the cold metal began leeching the heat out from his skin even through the barrier of Tom's uniform. Tom wiggled around a little bit, eyes never leaving Harry. Something strange was going on, something that had started when Harry decreed the church feeling unsafe. That was when Harry started feeling things that Tom had not even a tiny whisper of.

Harry's face was expressionless, his slightly glowing green eyes glassy as they darted around like brilliant dragonflies. Tom leaned slightly in front of Harry's eyes. Would he perhaps see anything in them to tell him what was going on? No, the green eyes looked just as they always did, emitting a faint glow that Muggles simply passed off as extremely vibrant green eyes. Tom had mentioned it once to Harry, who had simply said that his eyes were where the spell had struck him. They were unfocused, staring blankly -

Harry's eyes widened and he shot forward in his seat, yelping.

* * *

 

_Danger, danger_.

Harry started. That vague feeling of nervousness and doom that was pervasive whenever Harry was in the church was back, stronger than ever before.

_Danger, danger, young one_.

What danger? Harry thought, slowing to a stop. Before his eyes, something pale blue materialized. It looked like the thinnest strands of magic that Harry had ever seen, woven in a complex pattern that Harry could not even begin to decipher. Harry started looking at it, tracing his eyes down the faint never-there coils and threads that seemed to create a complicated, three-dimensional work of art. Eyes following it to the very edges, Harry noticed thin strands of blue heading off into the distance. His eyes could not follow them very far before the blue threads became too thin with distance to see, but Harry could see that they were crisscrossing the London streets around them with a slight, magical net of sorts, broken up occasionally by a complex spiral shape that seemed to glow.

_Danger, danger, young one_ , the feeling - the enchantment - seemed to say. _They are looking for you_.

Who was looking for him? Harry wondered. The only person who cared about him in any respects was Tom and he was always nearby.

_Looking for both of you._

Oh, Harry thought. This is new. What had they done...was it the priest? Harry's memory flashed back to the silk, coaxing voice of the priest that had seemed to be layered with a thin layer, much like this blue magic, of venom.

_Yes_ , the enchantment seemed to say. _Danger, danger. Hide_.

Where to hide? Harry thought, looking deep into the blue tangle right in front of him.

_Nowhere_ , the voice said. _Too late now. Sorry. I am old. Would have warned sooner if I could._

The blue tangle of magic seemed to shimmer before it began to fade out of Harry's vision, as if seeing it was a choice of the sentient enchantment. Harry jerked forward, eyes wide, as the blue shimmered out of sight.

"Harry!" Tom's voice said, layered with panic. Harry turned to look at him, mentally sighing with relief that he still saw Tom's magic with the familiar level of clarity. In fact, it seemed as if he could see just a little bit more of the details.

"Are you okay?" Tom asked, grabbing onto Harry's face and looking at him. "What happened?"

Harry opened his mouth, wondering how to explain. "It was...it was magic, really old magic, Tom! It was that feeling I had been getting earlier."

"Magic?" Tom asked. "How come you didn't see it before?"

"I don't know," Harry said, hands shaking. "It wasn't normal magic - it was alive, it talked to me - and it chose to hide itself and Tom, it said that we're in danger."

"What do you mean?" Tom asked, whipping his head so quickly to the side that Harry could hear his neck creak.

"It said that we're in danger and that it was sorry and that it's too late," Harry said, leaping to his feet, Tom's hands falling away.

"Maybe we can still run," Tom said, looking at Harry.

"We can try," Harry said, despite knowing that no matter how hard they tried, things were not going to turn out well for them at all, if that enchantment was to be believed.

Tom grabbed onto Harry's wrist and they were off, Tom darting from side to side as he wove through the foot traffic. Harry shadowed him as best as he could, leaping sideways where Tom had contorted his body to the side. It was a frantic attempt at an escape, not planned in the slightest, for how could they escape when they did not yet know their enemy or even their enemy's location? Just their goal.

Harry's breath came fast and hurried. In front of him, Tom was starting to flag, slowing down before hunching over. "My side," Tom croaked, moving backwards into an alley. Harry followed, standing nervously on the balls of his feet as Tom fought to catch his breath.

"The feeling's still there," Harry said conversationally.

"Is it, now?" Tom asked, punctuating each word with a deep inhale or exhale.

"Yes," Harry said, looking out of the alley into the everpresent darkness. "It's still there."

* * *

 

It was an hour later that they were stopped by Mrs. Cole out in the streets, who gave them strict orders to follow her. Harry had gasped when the feeling of doom intensified.

Both he and Tom knew that there was no getting out of whatever the situation was if Mrs. Cole was in on it; she was the matron of the orphanage, after all. Unless they decided to become vagrant, homeless youths, living in old deserted buildings and struggling to find a meal every day, they were stuck with whatever Mrs. Cole was planning.

At first, the few turns that Mrs. Cole was making didn't make sense. Harry had a pretty decent mental map of the area immediately around the orphanage, extended on one side to include their route to their school. The turns they were making were leading them away from the orphanage, though.

A few turns later, Harry understood. It had been obvious. The enchantment - the feeling of doom - was the one who had warned him. It would only be natural for them to be heading to the church where Harry first felt the strange magic unknowingly.

When they turned onto the street that the small church was on, Harry saw Tom stiffen with realization, his magic swirling momentarily in shock.

"Come along, now," Mrs. Cole said, gripping onto Tom's collar and yanking him forward.

"Coming," Tom said. Harry knew that Tom's look of fear was mirrored on his own face, much like their magic almost mirrored each other in appearance now.

They walked up to the church, Harry feeling the enchantment pulse.

_I'm sorry._

It's okay, Harry thought. I didn't understand what you were trying to tell me earlier.

_Sorry. Maybe in future you could help._

How? Harry wanted to ask, but something told him that the enchantment would not reply.

Harry felt Tom's hand grip his with terrible pressure, fingers digging into Harry's skin. Harry winced a little bit but gripped back just the same. They walked into the church after Mrs. Cole, who paused after taking a few steps forward. She turned to face them, face blank.

"Follow me," Mrs. Cole said in a voice that left no room for debate. With that, she turned and continued walking down the aisle between the pews, shoes clicking against the stone and ringing in hollow tones throughout the church.

Harry and Tom followed. The walk was taking too long, though, Harry thought. It wasn't making sense; they must have reached the altar by now. But yet, they were still walking. Harry made a soft sound of inquiry to which Tom responded, whispering into Harry's ear, "Back room."

Harry gave an imperceptible nod. Ahead of him, the click of Mrs. Cole's shoes changed, becoming sharper and ringing less. The stone in the back room must be different, Harry thought.

"Hello, boys!" Father Henry's voice rang out into the silence. "I'm so glad that you could join us today."

Harry didn't respond, knowing that Tom did not want to cater to societal niceties as well. Father Henry make a tsk-ing noise, sounding rather affronted.

"Well, that's not polite, boys!"

"It isn't," Mrs. Cole said. "I tried to teach them; teach them like all the other orphans to become good members of society...you know what I mean." Mrs. Cole's voice broke at the last statement. Harry heard the swish of a skirt and then Mrs. Cole walked out of the back room. To Harry's dismay, he heard something that sounded like the click of a lock.

Tom turned and lunged for the door. Harry watched, resigned, as Tom tried to open the door for a few seconds before whirling around with a hiss of anger. The enchantment - the voice - had warned them, after all.

"Why have you locked us in here?" Tom demanded, practically spitting in the direction of Father Henry.

"I know that it is not your fault," Father Henry said. "I will save you both."

"Save us?" Harry asked. "What do you mean by that?"

"To expel the demons corrupting your souls," Father Henry said, voice tremulous. He sounded way too bloody excited about that.

"No!" Harry yelled. "We don't have any demons in our souls! Are you mad?"

"Of course you do, children," Father Henry said. "They're taking over. Mrs. Cole told me all about how you too are too smart for your age and how you don't act like the others and the strange things that have occurred near you. Come over here and lie down; it'll be easier. I'll fix you."

"No!" Harry said, stumbling back until he hit the wall.

"We are not broken," Tom said, trembling. "Just because we're not like the others-"

"Not like the others?" Father Henry laughed. "Billy has told me all about the strange things that happen around you. Come, I know how to get rid of the demons."

Harry flinched as Tom lurched forward, his shirt yanked up by the collar. "Let go of him!" Harry cried, running in the direction he heard the priest's voice last. "Let go!"

"Calm down," Father Henry said. "It's not your fault; it won't hurt. It'll be painless."

Harry slammed into Father Henry, who staggered under Harry's weight before righting himself. The priest felt oddly soft to Harry, body crumpling part of the way before Harry's momentum was stopped. The priest jerked and Harry watched with wide eyes as Tom was flung down onto the ground.

"Stay down," Father Henry coaxed. Tom was struggling underneath hands that Harry could not see. To Harry's dismay, there was some sort of _rope_ or some _chains_...

Harry jumped onto Father Henry's back, beating him on the shoulders and on the neck with alternating hands. "Stop!" Harry cried, putting every little droplet of fear and anger and despair into his hits.

Father Henry shifted underneath him and Harry lost his balance, falling sideways to the ground. He landed on his side, the breath knocked out of him instantly. Before Harry could wriggle to the side and stand up, something scratchy rubbed against his wrist and Harry lashed out with his other hand. To Harry's satisfaction, it seemed to hit Father Henry in the eye, although it ended up making his hand hurt. "Good one, Harry!" Tom said from somewhere to his left.

"Blasted demons," Father Henry swore, shoving at Harry. Harry flopped around and tried to get up but before he could make and significant movements, his other wrist was also trapped underneath rope and Harry found that it was hard to breathe through his panic.

Harry heard the telltale signs of Father Henry straightening. "Now that you both are subdued, I must enquire: what are your names?"

"My name is Harry!" Harry shouted, voice cracking. "And that's Tom. Why are you doing this?"

"Your names," Father Henry repeated. "Your real names."

"My name is Harry!"

"Real names."

"Harry and Tom!"

Father Henry sighed. "I guess we will have to go about this the long way."

Harry heard the priest's steps draw away to the side followed by a series of loud clinks. Harry tried to wriggle out from the ropes holding his wrists down but they only burned fiercer than ever.

"Tom, what does he want?" Harry whispered. If he turned his head to the side, he could see Tom. And Tom looked awful; his face was stricken and he was shaking terribly.

"He thinks we're demons," Tom said. "And he's going to try to get rid of them."

"We're not demons though," Harry said. "Would...would it do anything?"

"That's what I'm afraid of," Tom replied. "What if...our magic?"

Harry's blood ran cold. His magic, chaotic before, suddenly narrowed as if it had a purpose. Harry instantly felt a chill race through the air and through the stone at his back. Please do something, Harry begged his magic as if it could hear him. I don't want to lose you or Tom.

His magic did not reply.

"Finished," Father Henry said, limping over to them both. "How naughty of you to play with the temperature."

Harry didn't even have the heart to reply.

"Time for holy water," Father Henry said before Harry heard a pop and a clink. Then, something wet was on Harry and something heavy was placed on his chest and time seemed to have lost all meaning as an even voice droned on an on about demons and angels and saving people and asking them their name.

Harry kept his eyes open and trained on Tom, who was also watching him. How unfair this situation was. They were only seven; Tom was only seven, Harry amended. How could this priest think they were demons? Mrs. Cole too?

Was it really so hard to believe that he was his own person? He wasn't that different from other boys his age, Harry thought to himself, denying a little voice in his head that whispered, _but you are different. Better, like Tom said._

And now he might lose his magic...Harry focused back on Tom and then froze in his endless struggling as Tom's magic, unfocused before, exploded outward in a storm of lines.

A few strands of magic, lance-straight and burning, hit Harry, who jerked as a warm feeling began to dance in his veins. Harry dimly heard the sound of cracking stone and breaking glass and a shout of pain before he became aware that his hands were suddenly free.

"Tom?" Harry whispered, looking at Tom. Tom was prone on the ground, unmoving.

"Tom!" Harry cried, skidding on the ground and shards of glass and stone as scrambled to stand up. Ignoring the sharp pain, Harry teetered to his feet, feeling weak and shaky. He walked over to Tom with hesitant steps, crouching down next to him and reaching out a burning hand.

"Tom?" Harry asked, eyes roving over Tom in search of damage. Tom looked like he was perfectly fine, albiet a tiny bit dimmer in color. Harry's hand touched Tom's shoulder before touching his face. "Tom?"

Harry heard a groan. "Tom?" he questioned before he heard a sliding sound behind him. Harry froze, staring straight ahead. Not Father Henry...no. Absolutely not. Tom was not responding, there was an explosion, something was wrong and the enchantment had warned them; it seemed as if something deep inside Harry had decided to open and Harry felt ice flow through him and jerk him out of his frozen state. Harry whirled around, swallowing heavily because Tom was not responding and everything was wrong and now Father Henry was going to get up and do something and that was _not okay._

"Stop," Harry said.

"I was right," Father Henry breathed. "He was stronger than expected. I suspected you more, you know, no matter what Mrs. Cole said...it turns out it was Tom all along."

"Stop talking," Harry said.

"I'm not done, no," Father Henry said, taking a step forward with a large crunch. Harry bent his knees and glared in Father Henry's direction.

"I'm warning you," Harry said, hands forming into fists, no matter how much they ached. "Don't get near us."

The priest took another step, breathing loud, and Harry felt the thing that just opened snap. In a flash, Harry had taken several steps forward and moved his arm and something heavy crashed into the far wall. Harry stalked forward, noticing as if from a distance the hot burn of salt and water and blood on his face.

"I said, _stop,_ " Harry spat, noticing that his magic was swirling like knives in the air. "Never come near me and Tom again."

"But -"

"Never," Harry said. "I'll kill you if you do. If you tell anyone."

Harry was mildly surprised at the vehemence with which he said that. He did not question it too much though because the situation was horrible. The priest deserved the threat for trying to take their magic away and hurting Tom...Tom!

Harry grabbed onto one of the knives of his magic and flung it at the priest before running back to Tom. He carefully placed his hands on Tom's shoulders again and shook him. "Please wake up," Harry said. "I can't lose you."

Tom jerked and gave a few shaky inhales and something in Harry's chest eased. "You're okay," Harry said and lurched forward, wrapping his arms as tightly around Tom as they could go and burying his face in Tom's neck where his tears began to slip down Tom's neck.

"Yes, I am," Tom said and Harry's limbs turned to jelly as he clung on to Tom and willed his heart to slow down and for time to reverse and for time to take them back a little while so they could prevent getting caught and everything bad happening after that moment.

* * *

 

Tom's mind felt muddled. It was as if he had a fever or something which was impossible because Tom did not get sick with simple things like the common cold. It was something that had always set him apart from the other orphans, at least before Harry came. Not sick; not weak.

His body ached all over but Tom could not bring himself to ask Harry to let go. Harry's burning hot tears, such a contrast to his icy skin, rolled lazily down Tom's neck as he breathed deeply and tried to keep the trembling from his limbs.

Tom surveyed the back room where the priest had tried to exorcise them. It looked remarkably plain, filled with a table covered in vials, a few chairs, and the remains of the glass that had surely once been in the window. The final part of the image was Father Henry, who lay against the wall, still and bleeding from his mouth. The air also reeked of burning and charcoal and something that only brought to mind the thunderstorms that Harry spent sitting by the window and counting the time between each lightning strike.

Tom stilled. What happened? He racked his brains for anything that could serve as a clue but it all evaded him. He remembered... he remembered fear and despair and anger and _Harry_ and then there was pain and then everything went dark... until he could hear Harry's voice filtering through the blackness of his unconscious and flooding everything with a warm, familiar light.

"Harry," Tom asked, "what happened?"

Harry's sniffles quieted. "I'm not sure," Harry said. "It was scary and I didn't know what to do and then you literally exploded with spears of magic and things started to break and then you fell and-and I tried to wake you up but you weren't waking up and then Father Henry stood up...and then I don't know what happened but I tried to wake you up again but you wouldn't! You wouldn't," Harry said, trailing off.

"I'm awake now," Tom said.

"Yes," Harry agreed. "You are."

They sat together for a few more minutes until Harry's breathing slowed down and Tom could remember how to move. Tom then took his hands and gently pushed Harry away a little so that he could stand up. His feet were shaky but Tom managed to stay up, perhaps using Harry's shoulders to push against.

"We need to do something," Tom said, scanning the room again. "What are we going to do about Mrs. Cole?"

"Mrs. Cole?" Harry asked, eyes flashing wide. "I think Father Henry's who we need to be worried about."

Tom gave the motionless, blood-covered form of Father Henry a look. "No," Tom said. "I don't think he's going to be a problem anymore."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked but Tom ignored the question, pulling Harry up and helping him stand.

"We need to fix this mess," Tom said. "There's stone and glass everywhere."

"Whose fault is that?" Harry snarked and Tom flicked him in the shoulder. "Shut up. We need to fix this."

"I'm not very good with fixing things," Harry said, staring at his hands.

"That's okay," Tom said. "You'll get it eventually."

Harry had a bad habit of destroying the things that he wanted to fix. He always said that the magic got a little bit too slippery and he lost the pattern he was trying to weave. The ways that it backfired were very interesting and occasionally rather beautiful. Tom was therefore delegated to the fine task of putting together things that ordinary Muggles would have simply trashed; they could not afford to be wasteful like that.

Tom examined a particularly large crack in the wall, feeling for his magic lurking underneath his skin. As he grabbed a mental hold of it, his senses bloomed with the sea and he calmed, not realizing how tense he was before. He willed it forward to fix the rock, to make it as it used to be, to put together the pieces and make everything right. Make everything right however it could, because if what Tom suspected was true, Father Henry would not be easily fixed.

The magic danced out of him, perhaps a little sluggish compared to its usual frolic, and before Tom's eyes the rock reassembled as tiny chunks whizzed around his form and pressed themselves into the space. Eventually, a thin cloud of dust flew by Tom's nose, making it itch, before shoving itself into the hairline cracks and the wall was whole once more...if only in that particular section.

Tom sighed. Whatever his magic had done, it had created the need for a ridiculous amount of cleanup. Tom moved forward to the next section of wall and the process repeated, slowing slightly as Tom began to feel strain from the mental gymnastics he was pushing himself through. At one point, Harry had leaned against his side and Tom relaxed onto him, his shaky feet never quite having gained their stability.

At last, Tom found himself standing right before Father Henry. It seemed as if gravity had won the battle against his skin, a sliver of his eyes peeking out from between the folds of skin on his face. He was ashen pale and covered in small cuts - probably from whatever I did, Tom thought - and a lot of blood, particularly in the center of his chest. Tom leaned in a little closer, trying to see what exactly happened there. As he drew closer, he got a whiff of ice so cold that the inside of his nose began to sting.

The sight was rather strange, Tom thought. It looked as if something spinning had just carved its way through his skin. It looked a bit like a sunburst, actually. However, this meant that Father Henry was indisposed permanently, so something had to be done so that the police and wouldn't take them away and so that Mrs. Cole would never have anything more than suspicions.

"Harry," Tom said, "Father Henry's dead."

"What?" Harry asked, burning eyes staring deep into Tom's. "Are you-you serious?"

"Yes," Tom said. There was no point in hiding the truth. It would always come out. "Harry...it was your magic."

"Oh?" Harry asked, swaying side to side. Tom grabbed onto him just in time as Harry's knees gave out.

"It's okay," Tom said. "Calm down."

"No it's not!" Harry said. "It's definitely not okay. I killed someone!"

"Because he was trying to hurt us," Tom reminded.

"But...but still!"

"I'm not saying that we should celebrate," Tom said, "but it makes sense why it happened. Just calm down. We need to figure out a way to fix this."

"Fix this?" Harry said. "He's dead. Dead. Gone. Away in Heaven or wherever people go when they die. He won't talk again or smile or laugh."

"He won't try to take our magic again!" Tom hissed. "It was an accident but we can mourn him later. What are we going to do?"

"It was an accident," Harry repeated with a far-off look in his eyes. "What...what does he look like?"

"You don't need to know," Tom said. That was a detail that Harry could not handle; not yet. "I'll tell you later. We have to act like it was an accident."

"An accident caused by what, Tom?" Harry asked. "Two wizards who were in the middle of being _exorcised?_ "

Tom stroked his thumb against Harry's shirt as he thought. "I have an idea."

* * *

 

Mrs. Cole was getting worried. Father Henry assurred her that everything was going to go smoothly and that it wouldn't take more than an hour to exorcise the demons from those boys. Those nasty, blasted boys with their strange intelligence and unnatural incidents. He told her to ignore any sounds and crying, but something was nagging at Mrs. Cole.

When the first explosion happened, she had jerked in her pew, broken out of her half-hearted prayer, but kept sitting and ignoring the happenings from the back room.

The second, smaller explosion had been accompanied by a small, indistinct yell but before all too long silence echoed through the church like a tangible force. Mrs. Cole had stood up half a dozen times and paced in front of her pew, debating on whether it was worth it to interrupt something that must be a delicate procedure. The previous explosions had made her wary; perhaps the demons in the boys were stronger than Father Henry had thought.

The light had shifted in its dance through the church as sunset approached. The shadows creeped longer and longer across the stone floors. When Mrs. Cole heard frantic cries for help coming from the back room, she could not hold herself back any longer. She flew from her pew and skidded to a stop in front of the back room, her heels screeching.

"Father Henry?" she called.

"Something's wrong!" Harry's voice called through the door. "Please! You're an adult!"

"He's not moving!" Tom's shouted. His normally smooth voice sounded cracked and desperate.

Not giving herself time to think, Mrs. Cole forced the door open and locked her eyes on the two frantic boys, who looked alright. She then flashed her gaze toward Father Henry and her heart stopped cold.

"Father Henry?" she said, running over to him and kneeling down. "Oh my god! What happened?"

"It was this," Tom said with a whisper. Mrs. Cole looked back at him and the bloody dagger in his hand. "The demons...they didn't want to leave without revenge."

"They went into him," Harry said, eyes wide. "And then he grabbed the dagger and tried to kill Tom!"

Tom nodded and Mrs. Cole noticed how shaky Tom seemed on his feet. "But...but he stabbed himself instead. I think he was fighting for control."

Mrs. Cole's eyes glazed over with tears and she shuddered. "Oh, boys, come here."

They complied, running over to Mrs. Cole and burying themselves in her skirts. She stared straight ahead, uncomprehending.

Before Tom had run over, she had seen a satisfied glint in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings for this chapter include: slight anti-religious themes, attempted exorcism, slight gore, violence**  
>  Notes: This chapter required a ridiculous amount of research. I found that the Protestant church does not have a specific protocol for exorcisms like the Catholic one does. Often, victims are restrained and the names of their demons are guessed. There is holy water involved and crucifixes are placed on the victims. Interestingly enough, the victims are not blamed but treated more like patients suffering from a mind-altering disease, from what I have found. I most likely have a lot of inaccuracies, but I did my best. While researching modern exorcisms is not difficult, Protestant ones in 1930s England was a bit hard.
> 
> * * *
> 
> _This chapter was a doozy. I wanted to get the whole situation, beginning to end, in one chapter. It ended up much longer than I expected. I'm rather proud of it; I researched a bit of writing advice so the latter half of the chapter might be in a slightly different style than the rest. Let me know if you guys like it, alright?  
>  I know you guys know I have an Ao3 account, but I just recently got a Tumblr for my fanfiction, so come and check it out! It's under the same name as my penname._


	12. Dove, Can You Hear the Water Speak?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduce Dove, the language of song, and an old man.

**April 9, 1934**

Harry sprawled out on the grass, spread-eagled, smiling as he enjoyed the heat of the sun. Next to him, Tom was also a mess of limbs, magic moving slow like molasses. It was a nice, warm day and school was over for the day and Dennis was sick and therefore not bothering them.

It was perfect, Harry mused as he slid his arms side to side in the grass. The grass provided a wonderful cool contrast to the heat. He could hear the sounds of other children playing in the distance and the low murmur of adult conversations out of his hearing range. They were all far away, though, so Harry let their noise fade away until he was just in a bubble of silence that enclosed both him and Tom.

There was a slight rustle next to Harry; Tom was moving. "Harry," Tom said. "We need to try again."

"No!" Harry whined. "I've tried to learn for hours!" Harry knew what Tom was going on about. Harry had promised himself not to give in to Tom's whinging; when Tom got fired up he would be pushy and irritating for _hours._

Tom swung himself onto his side with a lazy, smooth motion, propping himself up on one elbow as he stared at Harry, smirking. "Come on, Harry! It would be very convenient if you could learn! It's just a language."

"It would be awesome, yeah," Harry said, "but I can't get it! It all sounds the same to me." Harry knew that Tom really did mean well, but it was impossible.

"Try again?" Tom offered. "I'll read anything you want to you later."

"Bribery," Harry muttered, throwing an arm over his eyes. It was a tempting offer. Harry had to suffer through Tom's reading choices all the time. It was hard to convince Tom to stop reading endless books about science just for the sake of a storybook. Harry knew that it was childish of him to prefer the storybooks but there was something about them...the way that it was all planned out so that the good guys always won in the end with supernatural luck that made Harry think magic...it would be nice.

"Of course," Tom said. "How about it?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

Harry hissed angrily as Tom poked him in the side. If Tom continued his pestering, Harry would cave, he knew it. "No means no, stupid."

"I don't like the word no," Tom said. "That means that I don't get what I want." Tom stopped before gaining a wicked look in his eye. "I'll...I'll _bite_ you."

"You wouldn't," Harry said, hoping that Tom was only bluffing. To his dismay, he felt hands grab onto his arm and pull it away. Harry sat up and started scooting backwards in a hurry. "Oh, that's so gross, Tom!" Harry exclaimed, trying to yank his arm out of Tom's grasp as he brought it closer and closer to his mouth.

"Say yes."

"No!" Harry said and gave a great yank. Tom lost his grip on Harry's arm but he wasn't willing to give up yet. Harry watched in disbelief as Tom threw himself forward, caught Harry's arm, and _bit it_ before drawing back and flopping onto his side again. Harry flung his arm over his eyes again.

"You're horrible," Harry said, peeking out from underneath his arm for a moment to shoot a weak glare in Tom's direction. Just as he thought. Tom had the most infuriating grin on his face. It was the one that said 'I will wait as long as it takes to change your mind.' More like irritate me out of my mind, Harry thought. He wouldn't let it get to that. He wasn't giving up...he was just bowing to the inevitable. "Okay. Okay. Just this time."

"Just this time," Tom said, smug grin spreading wider until Harry could imagine his face getting stuck that way. Harry sighed again. He always gave in too easily to Tom. He tried not to, but it became something of a habit. He was just so infuriating!

"Ssszzzz," Harry said without much effort. "Was that a word?"

"You didn't even try," Tom said, frowning. Tom poked Harry in the side. "Repeat after me." Harry flung his arm over his face again, resigned.

Tom hissed out something unintelligible, voice lilting in a seemingly random pattern of ups and downs and ups again. Harry pursed his lips as he tried to remember it. It sounded like it went up twice and then down again?

"Sssessaussaassa," Harry forced out, huffing for breath at the end of his attempt. He could never figure out exactly where the words were broken apart so he most often just tried to say it all in one breath. "How was that?"

"It sounded like you said 'hot trees,' although even that's pushing it," Tom said. "That was the closest to thing to actual words that I heard. Try again. That 'eess' sound? Make it go... down and up?"

"Sssessaussaassa," Harry said again. He wasn't sure that this attempt was much better.

"Down and up, Harry."

"Sssyeassaussassa?" Harry said, question lying implicit in his tone. He tried to make the sound fluctuate the way that Tom asked but he felt that he was exaggerating it too much. He probably said something embarrassing.

"No," Tom said, breathing through his nose. Harry peeked out from under his arm and raised his eyebrows at the laughter Tom was holding in. "How about this. I talk and you try to figure out what I'm saying. Remember the words I taught you?"

Harry gave a sheepish grin. "Of course I do." It went something like 'sssss' and 'ssssessaa' and 'sssuess.' Or maybe not. Perhaps they weren't the words that Tom taught him but it was highly likely that they actually _were_ words, right?

"Good," Tom said, voice sounding relieved. Harry bit down the urge to laugh as Tom began talking slowly. It all sounded incomprehensible to Harry, despite his attempts to pick at least anything out of the melodic language. It was odd how it was so sing-songy, being a language comprised mostly out of different hisses. Whenever Harry tried to hiss it always sounded harsh. It was probably because he was always out of breath trying to say it all in one go.

"Did you understand anything?" Tom asked. His eyes fixed on Harry's face, face shining with anticipation.

Harry thought it over. One part sounded somewhat familiar? "Did you say park?"

"Yes!" Tom said, elbow sliding out from underneath him as he collapsed back onto the grass. "This is progress."

"Not much progress," Harry said, "but yes, I guess." This exact scenario had repeated countless times and this was the first time he had guessed right. It wasn't very promising, but it showed that perhaps Harry could learn more.

"Listen some more!" Tom said. "Okay, what can I say..." Tom trailed off and began talking again. Harry turned his head to the side to look directly at Tom. Tom's face was lit with excitement and his brow was furrowed as he concentrated on speaking with slow, cautious words. His magic also belayed his energy, languorously curling around his his body, small tendrils leaving the main network of magic that made up his body to wind in the air.

The dancing of Tom's magic looked rather snakelike, Harry thought. How fitting. Harry looked over Tom's neck, a flash of memory dancing in the front of his mind for a moment. He thought he could remember some magic around Tom's throat the first time he spoke to a snake...to Assa. Harry was hit with a pang of sadness before a thought flickered in his mind. Harry latched onto it quick.

"Hey, Tom?" Harry interrupted, sitting up. "I...I think I have an idea."

"Hm?" Tom said, cutting off his long string of hisses. "What idea?"

"Remember when you started smelling magic?" Harry asked, lowering himself backwards onto his elbows. "It looked like your magic was...opening up or something. I think I remember seeing something like that the first time you spoke to Assa. Maybe I can, I dunno, try to do the same? Somehow?"

Tom hummed, looking off to the side as he thought. "That sounds like a good idea. Do you know how?"

"No," Harry said, laughing. As if they ever really knew exactly what they were doing. "But it's worth a try? Maybe it'll work and you'll stop pestering me about it all the time."

"Yes, that's a good reason to try," Tom said, magic flicking in good humor. "Try saying something while you do it. Repeat after me."

Tom hissed out a short melody and Harry began trying to replicate it, feeling for his magic around his neck. He tried to think of things opening; the identical boxes they all recieved on Christmas being ripped open, the crinkle of the paper as Harry opened a candy. Doors swinging open with a creak, Tom opening his mouth to a low susurrus. Harry felt his magic twitch, as if the idea of opening was something that it could understand.

Harry willed it to open something inside of him, tensing as he thought about snakes and Tom and that feeling of delight Harry recieved when something confusing finally clicked in his mind and became clear. Harry hissed again and Tom hissed back a correction like he had so many times before.

But this time was different. A strand of magic shot from Tom and sliced through Harry's neck, latching onto something and pulling. Harry stilled in shock for a few seconds before gasping as a sharp pain radiated from his neck and throat. Harry hissed again, voice almost breaking.

Tom's eyes were wide as he hissed back again. The second the final hiss left Tom's lips, there was another yank in Harry's throat and pain lanced down again. It burned white hot for a few seconds before Harry felt something deep within him, something in his magic weaken and break free. Harry felt his eyes flutter closed as he jerked.

The pain disappeared as warmth and ice swirled around Harry's neck in soothing waves that heated up in a crescendo before fading away as if they had never been there. Harry slid to the ground, lifting shaky fingers to his neck and touching the sun-heated skin there with a feather-light touch. It didn't feel any different. But...did it work?

It better have worked, Harry thought, trying to calm the waves of hysteria that were tempted to rise up and flood his mind. Tom didn't hurt when he started speaking Parseltongue. Why was he? Did something go wrong? Harry thought back to when Tom started smelling magic. It hurt him then, right? "Tom?" Harry asked.

" _Harry? Are you okay?"_ Tom's worried voice asked. Harry opened his eyes to see Tom's eyes, a chaotic mass of blue and green and gold magic within delicate confines hovering right in front of his face.

 _"I think so,"_ Harry said, lifting his hand further to rub at his eyes. He felt the slight sting of tears ease.

 _"Harry...you did it!"_ Tom said as he plopped on top of Harry and wound his arms around his body, wiggling them underneath Harry's back and squeezing hard enough to make Harry's ribs creak. _"You did it! I knew it!"_

 _"L-let go, Tom!"_ Harry complained. _"You hug like a leech."_

Tom frowned and let go, disentangling his arms from Harry. _"Leeches don't hug."_

 _"I know that, silly,"_ Harry said. _"But you still hugged like a leech._ "

"That doesn't even make sense," Tom said with a hint of reprimand, although Harry could tell that he was too happy to nitpick at the moment. "Now all we have to do is make sure you can tell when you're speaking Parseltongue and so that you can hear the hisses as you say it; it's really rather helpful-"

Harry scrambled to his feet, brushing off the dirt and lurching sideways to grab his cane. "Tom! I thought figuring this out was enough!" Harry started backing away, shaking his head.

"Harry!" Tom said, voice stern. Harry gulped and ran in the other direction, brandishing his cane a little bit like a sword.

"Harry!"

Harry sighed as he realized it wasn't over yet. Not over until Tom finished messing around with everything. Somehow, this didn't feel as much a cheating shortcut as Harry would have expected.

Harry skidded past a stone wall and flung himself into an alleyway, hitting his foot upon a cardboard box. Behind him, there was an angry yell of " _Harry!"_

* * *

**May 23, 1934**

Tom looked over what Harry had written and winced. His letters were crooked and distorted as if someone had yanked the tops to the left. They also weren't level, instead arching up towards the right until they were in danger of falling off the paper.

" _You're getting better,_ " Tom said, " _but you're leaning them to the left now._ "

" _Ugh,"_ Harry said, frowning at the scrap paper held in Tom's hands. " _I don't like this. It's stupid._ " He flung himself with a frustrated huff back onto the bed.

" _You know you have to,_ " Tom said. " _They're not going to let me write for you much longer._ "

" _I know, but complaining about it makes me feel better,_ " Harry muttered. " _Let's go outside."_

Tom gave Harry a look, arching an eyebrow. " _Can we not?_ " Tom asked. He didn't like climbing onto the roof of the orphanage. He didn't like climbing the walls at all, period. Harry had asked him to extend the holes to the rooftop, which soon became Harry's favorite place to lie around. Tom, though content when actually on the roof with feet propped up against the edge, did not fancy the climb up. It required some awkward manoevering over the edge of the roof that always made Tom feel as if he was about to fall off. Harry, the bugger, always scrambled past that part with a distinct lack of fear that Tom found disturbing.

" _Please?"_ Harry asked, looking at Tom with eyes wide. " _The sun will set soon. You can watch it."_

Tom sighed, glancing out the window. The sky was turning dusky and the top the roof of the building across from their window was starting to glow a dusky gold. Far below them, he noticed a few other orphans being herded inside by Martha. He sighed. He gave in to Harry's demands too easily.

" _Martha will be gone in a minute."_

" _Awesome,"_ Harry proclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and letting them flop back onto his chest.

" _You've been getting better at Parsel',"_ Tom noted. " _It doesn't take you more than half a second to make sure that you're in Parsel' mode."_

Harry had finally acquiesced to train his newfound ability (although Harry insisted that it felt like it was always there, just painful to draw out) and now they spoke mostly in Parseltongue when they were alone. Tom wouldn't be averse to utilizing it when around the other orphans for added privacy but Harry refused to, saying that they weren't completely ostracized yet and that he would not encourage it. Tom sighed mentally. There was something about the sound of Parseltongue that Tom liked, much like he had a fondness for flowers and Harry's company. It flowed like water and it was surprisingly soft. Deceptively so. Tom knew that Harry, like him had fangs. Dennis and Father Henry were the (mostly) living proof. He'd like to hear it more.

Mrs. Cole had figured out that something was wrong following what Tom called "The Church Incident." Tom wasn't sure when she became suspicious, but something had changed a few days after The Incident. Most of the orphans that Harry had been on amiable terms with declined to speak with him more than was strictly necessary. Harry thought that Mrs. Cole was trying to keep everyone away. Tom wasn't too bothered by it - as if anyone other than Alyssa ever really tried to hang around them - but Harry was a little put down. This led to him refusing to speak Parseltongue within earshot of people.

Tom was sure that he would be able to convince Harry in time. Harry didn't need all those other orphans; they would go to Hogwarts eventually and would make magical friends. These muggles were unnecessary; Tom would be enough for now.

" _Yeah, I don't need to think about snakes anymore,"_ Harry said. He had confessed to Tom that he was having trouble pulling up the thought of snakes to trigger the language, so Tom had went out one early morning without giving Harry his customary wake-up call and brought back a snake so that Harry could have fresh tactile memories. They'd both been working on summoning the language until it came out as naturally as English did for a month now.

" _Good,"_ Tom said. He couldn't resist teasing ," _But I figured how to do that a week ago. You're slipping, Harry!"_ A tiny nagging voice in Tom's head said, 'you do remember that you found out about Parsel' months before Harry, right?' Tom glared at the mental voice and ignored it.

Harry scowled. " _Who still can't cast warming magic on themselves, huh?"_

Tom bit his lip, worrying it a little between his teeth. " _I understand the lessons at school faster."_

_"You actually see what's on the board. All I hear is 'Look here!'"_

Tom slipped the scrap of paper into their wardrobe and sat down next to Harry. It was time to get this conversation out of dangerous territory. _"I'm better at tickle-fights."_

 _"Lies,"_ Harry said, sitting up with a grin suddenly plastered on his face. Before Tom could move away, Harry's fingers had found their way into the indents between Tom's ribs and Tom's thoughts lost clarity as he yelped and fell over onto the bed.

" _Stop,"_ Tom whined, swatting at Harry's hands. He was sure that he was making a marvelous impression of a dying worm with all the wriggling he was doing. " _Martha's probably gone now."_

Harry froze for half a second before leaping off the bed, grabbing at Tom's hands. " _Check the window, come on!"_

Tom sighed and stood up, trying to calm his uneven breathing. He walked over to the window and was cheered by the sight of an empty courtyard. That meant that there wasn't anyone who could see them. The building facing the orphanage was deserted as far as Tom could tell, so the chances of someone seeing them weren't very high.

 _"She's gone,"_ Tom said. Harry raced over to the window and opened it, leaning on the windowsill on his stomach and wriggling through. Tom held his breath as he always did. Harry shuffled around and grinned at Tom, lifting his hands away from the windowsill. Tom's heart caught in its chest and he frowned at Harry. _"Stop doing that. One day you'll actually fall doing that."_

 _"I'm not worried,"_ Harry said. " _When I ran away I jumped out of a really high window and my magic carried me down."_

 _"How do you know it'll do it twice?"_ Tom asked but by that time, all that was visible of Harry was a small portion of his shoe in the top right corner of the window. Tom closed his eyes and clenched his fists before moving to the window. He laid himself down on his stomach and threw one leg over, keeping his eyes away from the ground with fanatic concentration. He threw the other over and slowly lowered his body down the wall, his feet slipping into familiar uneven footholes. He looked up at the edge of the roof and began climbing. He could see Harry's feet poking over the edge.

The wall was gritty and rough on Tom's hands as he clutched the edges of his handholds. He took several small breaks along the way, pressing his whole body to the wall to take a short break. They'd been doing this for months but Tom's body still tended to be uncooperative when climbing. Tom was not sure how he managed to get up the first time.

A few minutes later or perhaps a few years, Tom slumped next to Harry on the west-facing side of the roof, sticking his feet against the edge of the roof and laying his head down on the roof tiles.

" _What does the sunset look like?"_ Harry asked, voice so quiet that it seemed to fade into the everpresent rumble of city life.

It was a glorious sunset, Tom thought, admiring the sight before him. Better than usual; it was almost worth the nerve-wracking climb that Tom had had to take. The sun was a luminescent dark orange, ringed by a thin outline of something that could have been white. It looked oval, distorted so late in the day. The sky was a flurry of pinks and blues and clouds of grey edged in bright orange. A thin band of green ran over the sky between the clouds, almost as if the sky itself wanted to say hello to Harry's green eyes. " _It looks like life,"_ Tom said. " _Like colorful life just as the day dies."_

Harry hummed in acknowledgement. He didn't question Tom's odd statements. " _Hey Tom,"_ he began, voice the slightest bit too cheery. " _What...what do I look like?"_

 _"What do you mean?"_ Tom asked, tearing his gaze off of the sunset and looking at Harry. He was subdued, hugging his legs to his chest as his chin rested on his knees.

 _"I mean, what do I look like? It's been a while,"_ Harry said. _"I...just need to know."_

 _"Did something happen?"_ Tom asked. This didn't sound like something Harry would ask out of the blue.

 _"No,"_ Harry said but Tom could hear the untruth in his statement. Something must have happened.

 _"You look like you always do,"_ Tom began. _"A bit shorter than me, black messy hair that nothing can fix, green eyes that glow. Pale."_

"Do I...do I look okay?" Harry asked, speaking mumbled English while tucking his chin in. His hair splayed over Harry's knees and Harry's face was hidden from sight.

"Of course you do," Tom said. "I don't know what you're expecting to hear. Did someone say something?"

Harry mumbled something under his breath.

"Can't hear you."

Slightly louder mumbling.

"Still can't hear you," Tom said, exasperated. He scooted over to Harry, pressing himself against his side and hugging him with one arm. "It's me, you know. I don't know why you don't want to say anything."

"Yesterday," Harry began with a quiet voice, "Amy said that I was ugly and when I said I wasn't, she said that I wouldn't know because I can't see myself."

"She _did?"_ Tom said, slipping into Parseltongue. " _Ignore her. She's lying. You don't look ugly at all."_ Tom gave an exaggerated sniff, trying to cheer Harry up. _"As if I would let anyone but the prettiest of people be my best friends."_

Harry snorted, peeking his head out from his knees. "Really?"

"Yes, really," Tom said. "You're so pretty that nobody ever expects you to steal things."

"Woo," Harry fake-cheered, flinging his fist into the air and letting it plop down in his lap. "I'm pretty enough to be a thief!"

"Well," Tom said, "to be honest, we both are. We've only been caught once, remember?"

"Yeah," Harry said, the golden light of the sunset making his smile glow. "The Incident...I'm still not okay with what happened."

"I wouldn't expect you to be," Tom said with an exasperated sigh. "It was us or him."

"I know, I know," Harry said. "I just wish that we could have done something else."

Tom hugged him tighter. "It won't happen again. We've been practicing our magic, right?" Tom lifted his hand and focused, unable to suppress a smile as a tiny flame appeared in the palm of his hand. "Next time, we won't let anyone hurt us and it won't come to that."

Harry leaned onto Tom and sighed. "Now it's your turn to share."

"What do you mean?" Tom asked, taken aback.

Harry gave him a look and repeated, "It's your turn to _share."_

The Parseltongue was a dirty move. Tom huffed but decided that it would be fair, after all. "Well...," Tom started off, watching as the last traces of gold slipped behind the horizon as if the sun was molten gold. "I don't think I like my name."

"Really?" Harry asked. "I like it. It's short and easy to say. Easier than mine."

"That's what I don't like," Tom said. "It's too common."

"Oh yeah, you don't like being like everyone else," Harry stated with a world-weary sigh. "I think it's perfectly fine."

"Still," Tom insisted, dropping his gaze to his hands. "I think...that if I get a chance, I may change it later."

"Change it?" Harry asked, eyes glowing wide in shock. "To what?"

"I'm not sure," Tom said. "But...I think I may change it someday." Tom looked at Harry, emotions running plain across his face like they always did when he was alone with Tom. There was a fair amount of dismay there, Tom noted. "It's okay, though," Tom reassured. "You can always call me Tom."

"Always?" Harry asked, tipping his head to the side like an animal.

"Always," Tom said, giving Harry a wry smile. "You'll be the only one when I do."

"So now it's 'when' instead of 'may,'" Harry said. Tom laughed in his head. Of course Harry would pick up on that.

"Yes," Tom said, unashamed. Harry gave him an appraising look and that was all Tom noticed before he was hunched over, yelping as small fingers jabbed into his still-sore sides again.

"You're cruel," Tom whined.

" _You deserve it,"_ Harry sniffed. _"I think that it's unfair for you to decide to change your name without asking me. What if I want to change my name too?"_

 _"Do you?"_ Tom asked, looking at Harry's face.

" _Knowing you, your name will be ridiculous. Then we won't match!"_ Harry said with an expression of exaggerated horror, eyes wide and eyebrows raised.

 _"Merlin forbid we don't match,"_ Tom said, testing out the wizarding phrase.

" _Yup,"_ Harry cheered. " _Have an idea."_

"No," Tom said. "Absolutely not."

" _It's really good,"_ Harry hissed like music.

"No."

"Tom," Harry said, put out. "How about...we give each others our names?"

Tom eyed Harry, who was looking rather serious. It looked like Harry was taken with his idea. Harry probably wouldn't come up with a too-horrible name, but Tom wasn't sure if it was worth risking Harry's sense of humor.

"I promise I won't choose something silly for you," Harry said. "Or, I'll give a good reason behind it. I think I'll choose it later, though. I can't think of anything right now."

Tom loosened his hold on Harry and looked him over. He thought that he had an idea for a name floating around in his mind. Harry...pale, strange, and seemingly innocent Harry. Tom cast his eyes out around him, hoping for something to catch his eye that could pin down that idea...no, impression that he had. "Wait," Tom said.

The sky was starting to darken, stars starting to emerge from their dark blanket of night. The horizon was still yellow, although it was beginning to fade to greenish blue. Around him there was a sea of buildings, some taller than others, some shorter, some made with stone or some with bricks and some with something that appeared to be wood from a distance. The chimneys stick out periodically along the landscape like strange fingers pointing up, like a reminder.

Tom looked up. Stars and small shapes that were mere silhouettes against the darkness. Birds? Tom watched a few of them. They were dancing in the sky, like it was their stage or perhaps they were the just the beginning of the act. Tom started as one shape detached from the birds and flew down, soon followed by another. They settled on the building to the right of the orphanage, in a neat line.

Tom squinted. They looked like doves. Tom looked at them and the vague feeling he was getting solidified. It was a little silly to only take inspiration from his surroundings, but he felt like he could really come up with something. What a great idea...doves. Harmless creatures. Harry looked harmless. He wasn't, but people didn't have to know that, did they? He was only harmless to Tom. The idea rather appealed to Tom; calling a tiger a kitten, calling a hawk a dove.

"I know what to call you," Tom declared triumphantly.

"So quick?" Harry asked. "I know it was my idea, but I still don't know what to call you."

"I can wait," Tom said, waving his hand in dismissal. "Do you want to hear it?"

"Okay," Harry said, leaning out of Tom's hold and stretching out on the roof. "Go ahead."

" _Dove,"_ Tom hissed, smugness permeating his voice until even the musicality of Parseltongue sounded off.

"Are you bloody serious?" Harry said, staring at Tom. "How is that a name? I'm not a bird."

"It can be a name," Tom said, "because I decided it can be."

"You're ridiculous," Harry said. "I don't even know what to say. Why?"

"Because I like the idea of calling a hawk a dove," Tom said. "Of course, unlike everyone else, I know better."

Harry stared, mute, at Tom, and Tom could almost see thoughts of the Incident and Dennis's accident flashing through his eyes.

* * *

A man who was in his prime was standing at the window in his office, a frown bringing together two eyebrows over flinty blue eyes. He was unsettled by the situation because no matter his efforts, _he couldn't find that boy._

When St. Mungo's reported the disappearance of Harry Potter, it didn't take long for him to find out. The prime suspect was the one who had killed young Harry's parents in the first place.

Albus Dumbledore was the only one who knew the identity of the murdered of Harry's parents. How could he not know, with their shared past being the way it was? Dumbledore was sure that he could recognize Gellert's magic anywhere. In this case, Gellert's magic had been present in unforseen quanities at the scene of the crime, in the places that were recoverable. It was still detectable even under the layers of accidental magic that had ripped the house apart, probably as a response to whatever Gellert had done.

The large amount of accidental magic was interesting, but Albus could not fathom why Gellert would so viciously target an innocent family, especially a British one. Albus knew the reason that Gellert was keeping back from England was because of his presence, so there must have been some extraordinary reason for Gellert to risk things as much as he did.

Albus hated not knowing the reason. It was so much like Gellert, attacking out of nowhere. Albus hadn't even heard a whisper from some of his more unorthodox contacts about Gellert planning something in Britain.

Harry's parents were quite talented in their own right, but that did not merit such a vicious attack. Both of them had been made to explode from the inside, and Unspeakable experts still had not come up with the spell that did it.

And now Gellert had kidnapped Harry Potter. Albus sighed. He felt personally responsible for this tragedy. He should have known that Gellert was up to something. The Potters had been rather close friends of his. He owed it to their memory to get their son back; he might have been able to stop Gellert earlier, maybe. In another universe. Instead, there was a fight, an accident, and Albus's world had been torn apart.

Albus had intruded upon the crime scene with a little bit of throwing of his political clout and had managed to procure some of the late Potters' blood. Unfortunately, the boy had been taken from the hospital before the nurses had saved any of his blood. All of the samples they had taken for testing had already been vanished. Albus had used the Potters' blood to try to locate Harry, but it all was for naught. It could have been almost as if Harry had dropped off the face of the Earth were it not for an odd flash of green that appeared every time that Albus would try the spell. The flash of green always covered London and the surrounding areas on the map that Albus was using.

That was puzzling. Why would Harry be in London, of all places. The flash of green meant that somehow, the spells protecting his location weren't very effective. Probably a mistake in their casting, Albus had thought, somewhat cheered. Harry was still within reach, then. Albus couldn't fathom why Harry was being kept in the London area, but at least he was not in Germany.

Perhaps, if he tried very hard, he would be able to find him.

The newspapers had caught wind of the story of the attack and the disappearance and had speculated about the case for a few months. However, most of the furor had died off and Albus was left the only one who worried about Harry.

"I'll find you," Albus whispered to the fading sunset. "It's the least I could do."

* * *

**November 2, 1934**

Harry hummed a cheery tune as he walked beside Tom, munching on a candy bar. He and Tom had just returned from a little stealing spree to get Harry some candy. His sweet tooth was getting out of hand, according to Tom. Harry didn't think so. It wasn't as if he ate _that_ much candy. It was just a different flavor than the bland food that they were served all the time. At least sweet meant that Harry was tasting something instead of nothingness.

"Is it any good?" Tom asked. Harry chewed a little bit before replying, "It's okay."

"You're getting picky," Tom said. Harry looked down at his hands and sighed, crumpling up the wrapper and throwing it onto the ground. He shoved his hands into his pockets and grabbed for the little bundle of threads he had in there. For his birthday, so many months ago, Tom had somehow acquired a vast amount of thread that Harry liked playing with.

"It's not that," Harry said. "It's just different flavors, you know? I like sweet things but they're getting old now. I want...different tastes."

"You're too picky," Tom said. "This is what happens when I indulge you."

"Exactly," Harry said with a sniff. "Indulge me. Steal me more food."

Tom punched Harry in the shoulder. Harry yelped, glaring at Tom. Tom just smirked.

"That was not nice," Harry said. "I could start crying right now and then Martha would get really mad at you."

"But you wouldn't do that," Tom said. "Because then I'd say that Dennis made you say that and Martha would believe me."

"I'll tell her I was telling the truth."

"I'll say the same thing."

"She likes me better."

"I'm more charming."

"I," Harry said with an imperious tone, "am blind, so therefore I get the pity factor."

"I can claim powerlessness and failure to defend you."

"You won't do that," Harry said, laughing. "As if you would ever admit weakness."

Tom gave Harry the evil eye and Harry stopped, bending over as he gasped for air. "I don't understand why we do this," Harry rasped after a few minutes. "There's absolutely no point."

"To pass the time," Tom said. "But I have a better idea. Let's go back to our room. I snatched this really interesting book about maths yesterday-"

"No!" Harry shouted, straightening and placing his hands on Tom's shoulders. "Tom, please. I don't think my brain can handle any more maths today."

"I think you can," Tom scolded. "You understand practically everything about maths. You're just too lazy to do extra work."

"Of course I am," Harry said. "You already make us do hours more work than anyone else in class."

"It's because we're better," Tom said. "We can _be_ better, can get better, and learn more. If we're smarter than them, they can't hurt us."

"I've heard this speech before, Tom," Harry said, feeling the distance to the front door of the orphanage close. Harry reached out his hand and, true to his memory, the door was right there. He opened it and walked through, holding it open.

"Hey, it's the bat!" a voice jeered.

Harry tensed and felt his eyes narrow. Tom stalked through the door, stopping next to Harry and aiming a threatening glare in the voice's direction.

 _"How many?"_ Harry sang under his breath.

" _Six,"_ Tom said. " _Unlikely to do more than insult. Martha near."_

"I'm not a bat," Harry called out to the room, "but I'm sure glad I'm blind as one if that means I don't have to see your ugly face!"

There were a few distinct female laughs from the left. "Go Harry!" called Alyssa in the awkward silence.

"Or see your ugly mug in the mirror," Amy Benson crowed. Harry felt Tom tense even further next to him.

"Get out of here, freaks," Billy said. "Go run away to your little room and cry."

"No thank you," Tom said, voice quiet but carrying across the room. Harry sighed as Tom condemned them both to spending time in the playroom. Tom walked over to the right and Harry followed, settling down on the ground against the wall. Tom walked up to the shelf in the corner and picked out a book, sitting down next to Harry.

"What a softie," Dennis's voice said. "I bet Tom's secretly a _girl._ "

Tom pursed his lips but began reading. The words sounded flat, though, and Harry couldn't focus on them as the whispered insults got louder and more vulgar.

"Maybe that's why his last name's Riddle. Because who knows?"

"I bet the reason his mum died when he was born was because she saw his face and it was so ugly she didn't want to live anymore."

Tom's fingers were gripping the book hard enough to warp the cover. Harry hummed a sympathetic sound under his breath and leaned on Tom's shoulder. " _Ignore them, they're just trying to make you mad."_

 _"I know,"_ Tom said, but the tenseness in his voice made Harry worry.

"Blind waste of space."

"Wankers."

"You're so freakish you're not even allowed into the adoption room."

Harry could feel Tom's magic bucking under his control, straining to do something. All of a sudden, something rancid - like spoiled food - splattered onto the book that Tom was trying to read and all Harry could see was vicious green and blue and gold.

Long fingers of magic that wanted to hurt, to rend, to stop. Harry was familiar with that. Tom was not often affected like this. It must have been the damage to the book, Harry thought, panicking, that was the final straw.

The long ropes of magic shot forward and before Harry could do anything, he reached forward for them, somehow, and grabbed onto them.

The ropes ground to a halt, trembling. Harry felt Tom turn towards him, but Harry was just staring. He wasn't touching Tom's magic with his hands and their weird magic at all. He was just _looking_ at it, but at the same time, he was holding it. Harry squinted. Maybe there was something that he was missing. Harry thought he saw a flash of pale green but when he focused on that spot, he saw nothing.

Harry sat there for a few minutes, simply holding onto Tom's furious magic. Harry tried to calm it, tried to send feelings of comfort down whatever force he was using to hold the magic, and after a while Harry could feel Tom relax next to him. Tom sagged, leaning onto Harry.

Harry just sat straight as he let go of Tom's magic. The jeers grew again -"pansies," "glaring but not doing anything?", "freaks - did you see that stare?" - but Harry didn't care in the slightest.

" _Tom, are you okay?"_

" _I...I think so. What...was that?"_

Harry giggled, lifing a weak hand to fiddle with his messy hair. " _I don't really know. But hey, look. No disaster?"_

Tom was quiet for a little while before his body straightened and he sat up, still silent. Harry watched Tom stand up and stare at the book in his hands.

"Come on, Harry," Tom said after looking at the book for a little while.

Harry stood as well, following Tom as he walked toward the stairs to their room. Something strange was going on...did Harry just control Tom's emotions?

* * *

_I find it interesting to note that while the dove is a symbol of innocence, purity, and peace in many cultures, it is often connected with death and souls. A dove bearing a sword symbols the end of war._

_Note: Not all bats have bad vision. Fruit bats in fact have excellent vision. Common misconception._

* * *

_Another round of apologies for getting this out so late. This chapter proved...difficult. Still, I won't be abandoning this story! If you wish to stay updated on my progress or perhaps read short excepts from works in progress, check me out on tumblr under bleubirdsong. Once again, I want to express my desire for beta services if one of you readers would like to._

_On clarity between Parseltongue or simply emphasized words... generally, whole phrases italicized mean Parseltongue, individual words are simple emphasis unless stated otherwise._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I find it interesting to note that while the dove is a symbol of innocence, purity, and peace in many cultures, it is often connected with death and souls. A dove bearing a sword symbols the end of war._  
>  Note: Not all bats have bad vision. Fruit bats in fact have excellent vision. Common misconception.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  _Another round of apologies for getting this out so late. This chapter proved...difficult. Still, I won't be abandoning this story! If you wish to stay updated on my progress or perhaps read short excepts from works in progress, check me out on tumblr under bleubirdsong. Once again, I want to express my desire for beta services if one of you readers would like to._  
>  On clarity between Parseltongue or simply emphasized words... generally, whole phrases italicized mean Parseltongue, individual words are simple emphasis unless stated otherwise.


	13. And We Take Our Delights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was strongly inspired by Renegades - X Ambassadors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Harry will constantly switch between English and Parseltongue; each switch is intentional. 
> 
> Chapter Warnings located at the bottom of the chapter.

**April 12, 1935**

Harry sighed as Tom stood next to him with shaking hands. That never boded well for anyone. Harry shifted his weight onto his other foot and poked Tom in the side.

“ _Tom, what is it?_ ” Harry demanded for what had to be the fiftieth time.

Tom remained as immovable as stone, blank eyes staring ahead. Harry frowned, poking Tom harder. “ _Tom, what happened? Tell me!”_

Tom shook a little bit and turned his head slowly to look at Harry with an expressionless face. Harry watched it for a sign and was rewarded with a slight twitch of Tom’s lip that showed that he was very upset and trying not to show it.

“ _What is it?”_ Harry asked again, speaking quieter.

Tom clenched his fists and replied, voice tight, “ _Our books are gone.”_

 _"What do you mean, gone?”_ Harry asked, swallowing thickly. “ _Gone like disappeared?”_

 _“No,”_ Tom said, anger flashing across his face. “ _Gone as in destroyed. Ripped apart and stuck to our walls kind of gone.”_

Harry felt a pang of sadness echo through him because while he never really touched those books and some of them he outright disliked, those books were special to him because of the hours spent in the bed by the window under the warmth of the fading sun and under the dance of Tom’s voice. So many stories that Harry had loved and to imagine them simply gone was… difficult. They’d always been around. It seemed inconceivable to Harry and he knew that Tom felt the same, if not worse.

“ _Oh,”_ Harry said, feeling very faint. He felt himself swaying a little bit as he alternated the foot he was putting his weight on.

 _“Yes,”_ Tom said. “ _They’ve gone too far.”_

Tom broke himself out of his statue-like stance and walked into the room, looking around it with angry eyes. Harry sighed because this wasn’t the first times that their things had been targeted, although this was the first time that the possessions destroyed were ones particularly dear to him and Tom. Before that it was their pillows, and before that it was their homework covered in immature scribbles. But now it was the books.

 _“We’ll get more books?”_ Harry said. He wasn’t sure what he could really say to the situation because he was feeling angry as well. He didn’t want to resort to pulling on Tom’s vicious magic again because Tom didn’t like it and Harry had promised not to do it unless it was very necessary. Being forcibly calmed down rankled Tom something fierce, although really, it was more like Harry arranging Tom’s magic into a form associated with calm emotions that made Tom feel like his anger was petty and childish. Tom didn’t fancy feeling childish.

 _“Of course we’ll get more books,”_ Tom said, whirling around on one foot and stopping in front of Harry. _“That’s not the problem. They can’t do that. They have to know that they can’t do that before something worse happens.”_

“ _We’ll be more careful next time?”_ Harry offered. _“Or hide our things somewhere else… on the roof, maybe?”_

“ _I don’t want to be giving up,”_ Tom said. “ _We’re smarter and better. We shouldn’t have to avoid them as if we’re afraid!”_

Harry raised his eyebrows at Tom. “ _I don’t know about you, but I’m afraid.”_

Tom sighed dramatically, slumping his shoulders and hanging his head. “ _You shouldn’t be. We talked about this.”_

“ _I still think it’s reasonable,”_ Harry insisted. “ _Billy and his friends are four years older and Dennis is a year older and there’s so many of them.”_

Tom sniffed and turned around, staring at the room with crossed arms. _“I’m going to do something.”_

Harry widened his eyes and walked to stand in front of Tom. Whenever Tom decided to do something, it was usually vicious in some way and designed to scare people off. The problem is, it never completely worked. Of course, all of the younger kids in the orphanage avoided Tom - and Harry - like the plague. The older ones, though, seemed unfazed. At most, Harry thought that they were somewhat unnerved and wary.  

_“Tom, please don’t. It never works.”_

_“It will.”_

_“Tom-”_

Tom hissed at Harry some wordless angry gibberish and turned around, heading for the door. Harry hissed angrily as well, following him out into the hall. Tom looked side to side, face once again blank, before walking in the direction of the stairs.

“ _What are you doing?”_ Harry demanded. “ _Tell me. Don’t make me follow you blind.”_ Harry paused for a moment and laughed quietly. “ _Seriously, Tom.”_

 _“That was a bad joke,”_ Tom said, although the corners of his lips were upturned and the tone of his voice seemed somewhat less harsh. “ _I’m going to see if confronting Billy, the likely suspect,”_ Tom said with a lilt much like the one he used when reading Harry detective books, “ _will do anything. Haven’t tried that yet.”_

 _“Are you serious?”_ Harry asked. _“This is not going to end well. At all. We’ll be dead. They’ll set fire to our room while we sleep.”_

 _“You’re morbid,”_ Tom said, turning down the stairs. “ _I’m doing this in a public area for a reason.”_

“That’s not enough,” Harry said, dropping the Parseltongue as he heard someone in the hallway of the second floor.

“It will be,” Tom said confidently. Harry noticed Tom’s hands shaking a little bit and didn’t make a comment. If it helped Tom feel better…

Tom continued walking down the stairs but stopped as he reached the second floor. Harry sped up after him, jumping the last few steps and latching onto Tom’s sleeve. A very familiar, wheezy voice said, “Did you like the present?”

Harry glared in the direction of Billy’s voice, hoping that his glare was scary enough to maybe make Billy think twice for a second.

“I didn’t care for it much,” Tom said, voice like ice. “It’s not even Christmas.”

“I was just feeling generous,” Billy said and Harry could _hear_ the sarcasm practically dripping in Billy’s voice.

“We all decided to pitch in,” Edward said. “We wanted to show you how we feel about you.”

“Yeah!” Sam said, voice exuberant. “Because we hate you! And we hate books! So we ripped them.”

“Thank you for clarifying,” Tom said, lifting his chin a little and sending a look of pure loathing in front of him. Harry inwardly cheered, knowing that Sam, the twit, was likely to be cringing. Harry heard an “oof” from Sam and fought the urge to snicker. He wondered who had elbowed Sam.

“Just don’t do it again,” Harry said, letting go of Tom’s sleeve and stepping out from behind him. It wouldn’t be polite to leave Tom to go through the whole confrontation by himself.

“We’d be very displeased,” Tom said, leaning forward and smiling with malicious intent. “I’m sure you haven’t forgotten what happened to Father Henry last year. I wonder where he disappeared to.”

Harry fought the urge to wince because _it was not okay to bring that up_ even though it might make Billy and his friends think twice. “He was rude,” Harry contributed with clipped words. It made sense to bring up the rumors with verbal confirmation; it had been a year, after all, and Billy and his friends probably didn’t know much about it except for the fact that Harry and Tom had done something and that Father Henry was gone next Sunday.

A sharp intake of breath made Harry fix his gaze in that direction, ears straining for the smallest hint of sound.

“So you _did_ do something!” Billy said, sounding almost… muffled. Then Harry felt an arm on his shoulder and heard the sniff of a nose and then all that Harry heard was the whooshing of air in his ears as Tom’s magic crackled before his eyes.

* * *

Harry wasn’t too badly hurt but Tom was seething anyway. It could have easily turned out so much worse. What kind of daft nutter shoved someone when they were standing right in front of a staircase? In what universe was that ever a good idea? If not for the fact that the orphanage stairs had landings every half-story, Harry could be dead. He could have fallen wrong and broken his neck. Not even magic could save him from that.

He could have broken more than just his arm. Harry, when he had woken up, had reassured Tom that his magic was hovering around his arm and seemed to be doing something and that he was encouraging it, so everything would be okay if Tom just calmed down. Tom couldn’t calm down, though. Once again, he had come very close to losing Harry and that was unforgivable.

Harry was sleeping now, the moonlight falling through the window in silver streamers that made Harry glow. The rest of the room was dark and filled with soft shadows draped around the areas the moonlight couldn’t reach. The bruise on Harry’s face which had been a vicious purple after he had fallen had now faded until it was just a shade of green. Tom knew it would be gone by morning. It wouldn’t take weeks for Harry’s arm to heal. Tom and Harry always healed very fast.

But Harry had come so close to getting hurt enough that even his quick healing could not save him. So close… and all because Tom had insisted on trying to confront Billy and his friends in the open. So what if other tactics hadn’t worked? Tom could have refined them and made them better instead of undertaking such a foolish venture because his mind had been clouded with sadness and rage rather than the clarity that Tom prized.

The clarity was cold in Tom’s mind, mirroring the ice of Harry’s magic on Tom’s tongue. How fitting, Tom thought. Your magic is ice, my mind is ice. If only we were stronger; nobody would be able to hurt us then. Tom needed to have revenge. He couldn’t just keep this to himself because Billy had to know that shoving Harry was not okay. Tom could, in some twisted way, understand why Billy liked beating up on them and the younger orphans. He liked feeling powerful even though Billy was just a child like Tom and any power he had was insignificant. But Billy had crossed a line and now something had to happen; something had to die. Assa died last time, Tom thought, but this time, the death won’t be on our side.

Tom had something in mind and the ice crystals in the recesses of his heart crackled as they expanded because he had an idea and he would put it into place, no matter the consequences.

It would be a revenge for Assa and Harry both, all in one package that should hit Billy _right_ in the face.

Tom chuckled darkly and stood up from bed, casting one last glance at Harry before slipping out of the room.  

* * *

Billy flung his arm over Edward’s shoulder, wheezing in laughter. He hacked up a few rattling coughs before smiling at his friends. Sam flashed him a dopey grin and Julian’s face was caught in some strange, in between moment as he struggled to keep a smirk away. Dennis was giggling cautiously, the twit. Billy thought it was funny how he tried to endear himself to Billy and his friends despite being three years younger. He probably thought he would be safer..

Billy was pleased with how the night had went. It had been perfect. They had snuck out after the last check that Martha managed to do before falling asleep, as usual, in the playroom on the first floor with her nose in one of _those_ books. It had been so easy that Billy rather thought that they could repeat their venture; it had been lucrative, after all.

Billy knew that the orphanage did not have a lot of money. That explained why the allowance that they got – if it could even be called that – was so minimal that it could barely buy candy. However, the orphanage did not provide many things to them with the money that it did have. Billy was older now. He was eleven – almost twelve – and he knew what that smell from Mrs. Cole’s office was. Instead of buying them new clothes and shoes, Mrs. Cole spent the money on alcohol and relied on Martha to do everything. Martha hemmed and washed all of the clothes that everyone grew out of, but it wasn’t enough. Clothes showed wear and tear eventually and Billy was starting to get pretty big. It was hard for him to find clothes inside the storage room with all of the boxes of miscellaneous items that were all so old and worn.

Billy was not the only orphan with this problem. He talked about it with his friends and they decided that they would figure out something that they could do. Just a little bit of extra money would be enough to get something better if they didn’t buy any candy. That wouldn’t be a problem, Billy thought, recalling how easy it was to scare one of the younger orphans into giving up their toffee.

They decided to try out stealing. Julian tried it first with limited success. His first attempt at pickpocketing had ended up with him being marched home by his ear by one of the residents of the flats across the street. After they had all tried stealing for themselves, and when they showed no improvement, Billy declared that they would be trying something else.

That lead to where they had been earlier that night. They decided to try breaking into someone’s flat. It had gone very well, actually. The flat that they had broken into had belonged to an old lady that slept like the dead and had been filled with sweet foods of all kinds. Additionally, there had been jewellery in a very fancy box in the living room. It had taken them no more than ten minutes to creep through the flat and pick out the things that looked most expensive. Now, all they had to do was save those items and then try to sell them or trade them for something in the morning.

The night air was humid and the sky was a peculiar shade of burgundy that looked as if blood had spilled across it and dried in the shape of clouds. The moon was low to the horizon, barely visible over the rooftops of the surrounding buildings, and was colored a dark, glowing orange. It almost seemed ominous, although Billy dismissed that thought. He was just being silly.

They crept over to the empty crates left out in the alley between the orphanage and the strange building that had been empty as long as Billy had known it. They then lined them up and began scrambling over them, leaping the orphanage wall.

Sam went first, hopping up the old crates with a heavy step that made Edward hiss, “Quiet!” into the silence. Sam shot back an apologetic grin and perched on top of the wall, holding out his hand. Julian took it and scrambled up the crates as well. After some moving around, Edward and Dennis had followed behind, Edward staying on top of it to help Billy up. Billy took in a few rattling breaths, cursing his chronic cold, and clambered up, falling across the top of the wall and breathing too hard.

“Are you okay?” Edward whispered in a voice so quiet that Billy almost thought that he had imagined it.

“Yeah,” Billy breathed. “Give me a second.”

After a short break, they all crouched against the orphanage wall and slinked around the shadows towards the back door of the orphanage. Billy carefully opened the door – Martha forgot to lock it again – and slipped inside, his friends (and Dennis) creeping after him. Billy strained his ears and he heard a soft snort coming from the doorway into the lobby. He turned around to look at everyone’s shadowed faces and then tiptoed across the lobby, gaze fixed on Martha lounging in the ratty armchair by the fireplace.

It was all easy after that. They all knew the problem spots on the stairs and just a few minutes later Dennis peeled off from their group and headed toward his room. Billy and his friends exchanged smirks and crept into their room, blinking rapidly in the silence.

Billy headed towards his bed, taking one step and then –

There was cold fur and wet blood and his face was covered in it and Billy couldn’t breathe because that was Annie and Annie had done nothing wrong and the air seemed thicker than molasses. He heard quiet exclamations of surprise which turned into gasps of horror but he didn’t register them because Annie was dead and in his face and now he didn’t have his rabbit anymore.

He probably had not been the best rabbit owner but he had tried. He had loved Annie. He fed her carrots and petted her every day and cleaned the corner of the room she lived in himself once a month when the smell got too bad. He gave her water from a bowl nicked from the kitchens and he poured her enough water for a week at a time just in case he forgot. She had been a present from a stranger, given for free, and he had cared for her and now she was gone.

Billy knew whose fault it was. It was Tom. It had to be. There was nobody else as strange, as scary, as monstrous as Tom in the room across from theirs. Tom, who made his hatred of everyone visible but protected Harry like a brother. Billy knew they weren’t siblings; he remembered when Harry had arrived. But then again, Billy had been here longer than many and that wasn’t common knowledge among the orphans. He knew that Tom was something different; there was something in Tom’s eyes that Billy hated because those flat grey eyes were made of stone that said that Billy could chip away all he wanted at the cliff but if he wasn’t careful, it would fall on him and crush him until it was as if he had never existed. Harry’s eyes were an unnatural green that seemed to glow sometimes and whenever Harry would look at him – he was blind and he shouldn’t be able to know – Billy thought that maybe Harry saw something more than everyone else because every time Billy saw them there always seemed to be a thin layer of regret hidden deep.

Billy knew that he shouldn’t have pushed Harry earlier today but he had been upset and reminded of Father Henry who had always been so nice and had listened to Billy. Billy knew that it was his job to listen but sometimes, it had felt as if Father Henry had really cared and listened because he wanted to, not because it was his job. And then Tom had almost outright stated that Father Henry had died because of him… and Harry defended Tom and Billy couldn’t allow that to happen.

He hadn’t meant for Harry to go flying. He shoved his friends like that all the time but he had forgotten that they saw him move and adjusted accordingly. Harry hadn’t seen it and he had gone falling down the stairs and when Tom started checking him over on the landing with hands that moved with strange purpose from his wrists to his jaw to his eyes, Billy had regretted it. He regretted it even more now because he had seen the vicious flash in Tom’s eyes, where grey stone became the steel of a knife, and had not taken the warning. Now Annie was dead.

* * *

 Tom’s eyes flashed open when he heard a scream and he found himself chuckling softly in the dark shadows of his room. Maybe this time, things would change and they would be safe. Maybe they’d be scared off enough that they wouldn’t dare to bother Harry or him anymore.

Tom looked over at Harry and froze as he saw Harry’s green eyes looking at him sadly. Tom opened his mouth to say something, even if it was a meaningless platitude because Harry would no doubt not understand but closed his mouth in shock as Harry simply closed his eyes and moved closer to Tom, tucking his head under Tom’s chin and whispering, “Just don’t do that again.”

The taste of ice on Tom’s tongue matched the chill of the night air that Tom could feel through the thin blanket that had been salvaged a few weeks back. The ice was comforting, though, and in some cases, Tom thought, perhaps it could even be warm.

* * *

  **November 7, 1935**

The air outside was cold and seemed to lance right into Harry’s very bones. The wind kept stroking his face with freezing fingers and Harry thought that if it continued the very skin of his cheeks would slough off.

He didn’t mind. Despite the wonder of warming magic that Harry and Tom had long since mastered, there was something different about just letting the cold seep in like icy water in his boots. Harry glanced at Tom and laughed. Tom always hated the cold; he had confessed, one freezing night, that the cold reminded him of the time before Harry was there. The time when Tom huddled alone in bed during the winter, missing a blanket and far too close to the window for comfort. Tom’s distaste was plain on his face as he flicked his hand, weaving a golden net of warmth around himself.

“The park’s too cold now,” Tom complained. “We could just practice in our room.”

“No, I want to go to the park,” Harry said. “It’s just…different.”

The orphanage was filled with the rustle and clatter of dozens of orphans racing the halls, just out of reach of Martha’s hands or the burn of Mrs. Cole’s disapproval. The door to their room was closed but the sounds still filtered in anyway.

Outside, it was silent. If Harry strained his ears, he could hear the loud rumble of a car in the distance or the faintest snatch of a conversation. However, overall there was nothing but the sound of the wind in his ears.

“We could’ve just locked the door,” Tom said but Harry knew that Tom was only making a show at that point. Tom was outside with him, after all, leading him on toward the park. The walk was quiet, Tom occasionally swerving to the side to avoid some obstacle that Harry couldn’t see. A few times, Harry had almost lost his balance when his boots slid out from under his feet, but Tom’s arms always pulled him up again.

The sky must be cloudy, Harry thought. He couldn’t feel the weak glare of the sunlight on his face. Tom’s magic danced in a wide circle, for once predominantly green instead of gold. It foretold their planned activities; whenever they practiced magic, they would use the green magic instead of the gold.

The gold threads were thin and many, dancing over the surface of their skin and spiraling off in clouds and swirls. They were the easiest to use for small things. They also were the ones that gave Harry the most detail when he looked at Tom’s face. For more powerful magic, green threads of thicker size would slink out from below the sheet of gold. They never pulled out the blue magic, though. That magic lay deep in both Harry and Tom’s bodies under layers of celadon and metallic brilliance and despite Harry’s efforts, it was reluctant to come out.

Harry and Tom couldn’t wait until they could manage pulling out the blue magic. Harry eventually noticed that despite their magic when they first met, they both had identical colors. Harry’s deep emerald and Tom’s blues had morphed into the strange rainbow they had now. Sometimes, Harry would swear that their magic would slip and exchange between them when he wasn’t looking.

It was odd but Harry didn’t care anymore. Whatever had happened, they were now in the park and it was time to practice. To learn, to get better. To learn to protect themselves and each other because the world was cruel and never pulled its punches.

Harry slid his arm out from Tom’s and walked the last few meters to their tree, pulling in a deep breath that made his throat turn to ice. Harry turned back and gave Tom an appraising look. “ _You always say that I smell like ice_ ,” Harry said. “ _So like the air now_?”

Tom bit his lip and looked away, magic flushing his cheeks. Harry snickered, knowing that Tom was always embarrassed when Harry brought up his ability. “ _Can you even tell my magic apart from the air?_ ” Harry wondered.

“Kind of,” Tom said, flicking his hand and letting green magic spiral out. “ _The air outside does smell like your magic but when I smell your magic it’s almost as if it’s not only the smell I’m getting, but the idea. You know? Like when you remember the taste of that toffee you like. I smell it and not only do I smell and taste it but I also get the idea of ice and winter._ ”

“Your ability is weird,” Harry said with a grin and flicked his hand, shooting out thin ropes of green and aiming them at the ground. To his delight, there was ice or snow coating the ground. Harry concentrated for a moment and his magic spun in a vortex, lifting whatever the substance was into the air, before throwing it towards Tom.

Tom lunged to the side and his magic sent something flying at Harry. Harry ducked out of the reach of the magic but to his dismay, whatever the magic was ferrying had dropped out of its reach and hit him right in the face. It wasn’t ice or snow after all. It was something freezing and slushy.

Harry didn’t know what he was expecting. Proper snow was rare in London. He had been hoping for a thin layer of frost, at the very least, though.

“Agh, you win,” Harry moaned, scrubbing at his face with the sleeve of his coat. “I was expecting something drier.”

“It’s November, Harry,” Tom said. “It’s always soggy and icy. And I told you earlier that there was a lot of frost the past week.”

“Meh,” Harry said. “Anyway, what should we practice?”

Tom crossed his arms, his magic dancing above his shoulders as he thought. “Maybe we can try to make ourselves invisible,” Tom offered.

“Do you think we can do that?” Harry asked. “That sounds so complicated that I don’t even know where to start.”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

“I don’t know, maybe we could figure out how to protect our stuff so Billy or Dennis don’t touch it.”

Tom hummed, bending down and grabbing at something before walking closer and bringing his hand out. “What should we try to protect? I have a rock in my hand.”

“That’ll work,” Harry said. “I’ll go through all of the shapes and forms I have memorized and you just try to make it happen on your own.”

“Agreed,” Tom said before the small shadow on his palm was engulfed by a swarm of green magic. Harry watched the swirling of Tom’s magic for a while. When Tom tried to make something happen, sometimes his magic would randomly twist into a specific form or shape that would cause it to glow. Harry knew that those shapes and forms were essential for spells.

Harry began experimenting with a few threads of gold, fingers lightly dancing between the threads and pulling them in one way, then another. As Tom’s magic flashed into a swirl with two ends, Harry quickly manipulated the golden threads into that shape. He hummed in success as the gold threads began to glow, memorizing it like he did dozens of others before.

“Keep doing what you’re doing. I want to see if it works,” Harry said. Tom complied, his magic twitching in his grasp as he kept it stable. Harry bent down and let his hand wander around the icy grass, feeling for something they could use to test what arrangement their magic formed. Harry stepped to the side and kept sweeping over the ground before his hand chanced upon a rock.

“Got it,” Harry said, standing up and walking back to Tom. He lifted his hand above the shape Tom’s magic was holding and let go. He watched as a shadow impacted the shape and then bounced off. He was about to let out a cheer but then he flagged as the shape broke, realizing that the two broken halves had very familiar shapes.

“Let it go, Tom!” Harry yelled, diving at Tom and shoving the two shapes away with a shiver. As Harry and Tom fell to the wet ground, water slipping through the fabric of their coats, a small explosion sent a blast of warmth onto Harry’s back.

“Again?” Tom said, disgruntled, lifting the arm from his face and looking at where he had just been standing. “Why is it that half of the shapes we discover break so easily into the explosion ones?”

“Bad luck,” Harry said. “But it worked, even if once, right?”

Tom sent him an unimpressed look. “So useful. We protect our stuff only to have it blow up as someone comes near.”

Harry laughed, poking Tom in the arm. “Hey, at least we might be able to burn Billy’s eyebrows off?”

Tom gave a wicked smirk. “Oh, I have an idea…”

“Tom!” Harry sighed, giving Tom a fond look. “Only for enemies, alright?”

“Maybe,” Tom said, giving Harry an innocent look.

* * *

  **December 31, 1936**

The sunlight pouring through their bedroom window was making Harry’s hair glitter and Tom didn’t want to get up. It was his birthday and his limbs felt warm and relaxed in the early morning light. It was just after dawn and Harry wouldn’t be up for half an hour, at the very earliest.

Tom sighed and looked at the cracks in the ceiling, wondering what coincidence or twist of fate led to Harry arriving those years ago. He was so very lucky, he knew. He had an ally against the world, he had company, and he had a friend. A true, real friend that would never leave him because they went through everything together.

Despite what Tom had used to tell himself all those years ago, perhaps being alone wasn’t being strong. He knew this now and he shuddered to think of what might have been of him had Harry never appeared in the orphanage, exclaiming that he could _see_ Tom. Before Harry, Tom had been invisible and ignored except for as a target. It was ironic how Harry was the first to truly see him.

He wouldn’t even need any birthday presents. Harry was still here, his breath whistling softly against the pillow and always a source of warmth during the coldest nights. Tom would never admit it, but whenever he woke up he always had to detangle himself from the mess of limbs and blankets. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

The time passed slowly as Tom’s thoughts cavorted in a sluggish pace, the room growing brighter and brighter as the sun detached itself from the curve of the horizon and slipped into its never-ending ascent into the sky. Eventually, Harry’s breathing stuttered and he woke, rubbing at his always-glowing eyes.

“Happy birthday, Tom,” Harry said with a yawn. “Sorry for waking up so late.”

“It’s fine,” Tom said, smiling. “It was nice without your chatter.”

Harry rolled his eyes and slipped out of bed, padding over to their wardrobe and changing out of his long pajamas into pants and a sweater. “Don’t move,” Harry called back, heading for the door. Tom raised an eyebrow, curious. Harry was likely getting him his present. He was interested to see what Harry had come up with.

Their presents to each other over the years had always been rather strange, scavenged from wherever they could snatch something. Yarn, thread, candy, a battered thing called a ‘dreamcatcher’ Tom had seen someone trash in the market. Books, colored pencils, a sketchpad from Harry.

Tom got out of bed and dressed as well, shivering as the chill of the room leeched into his fingers as he left the bed. He pulled on his clothing with quick, sure movements, pulling on a coat despite being indoors. By the time that Tom was finished, Harry had reentered the room, holding his hands behind his back.

“Happy birthday!” Harry said, smiling so brightly that Tom felt as if the sun itself had materialized in their room. His hands moved in front of him and their contents were presented to Tom.

Tom’s eyes roved over the mismatched stack of pots and the bundles of paper before fixing on Harry’s face.

“Thank you,” Tom said, reverently taking the gifts from Harry’s hands. He set the pots down on the ground and unwrapped one packet of paper, smiling when he saw the seeds inside. He looked up at Harry and asked, “How?”

“It was kinda hard,” Harry said, messing with the hair on the back of his head, “but I managed to steal some seeds. I bought those pots with some money I got from doing a small job for that lady who sells bread down the street.”

“Thank you,” Tom repeated, chest filled with a buzzing energy and warmth. Harry knew that he had a fondness for flowers and now he could grow his very own. Tom had always liked them, simple and yet strong. Small amongst the grass but still standing tall, petals spread toward the sky.

Tom folded back the packet and placed it with the other seed bundles before leaping at Harry, hugging him tightly and hiding his face in Harry’s neck. Harry stiffened in shock before wrapping his arms around Tom and hugging back.

“Thank you,” Tom said for the third time. Growing flowers would be creating something for once, instead of the destruction that so characterized Tom’s actions. He thought it would be a nice change.

* * *

  **May 7, 1937**

Harry’s hands were trembling. He and Tom had separated just for a moment on the way home from school. It was just supposed to be a moment. But then Dennis had arrived and Harry had ran and now nothing made sense.

Harry was acutely conscious of the darkness now. He had always been familiar with it and its ever-looming presence. He had known that Tom was nearby and whenever it got too overwhelming, Harry could simply look for him and he would light up the world. The darkness would hide. But the darkness now was smothering, stifling. The sounds rushed into Harry’s ears and he tried to sort out the data. The sound of cars and voices and footsteps and barking dogs and scuffles and miscellaneous movements all flooded in and Harry couldn’t make any sense of it. He was running so fast and it would take the smallest thing to make Harry fall

Harry didn’t want to fall. He prayed that there was nothing underneath his feet. He could not trip, not now. His feet pounded against the ground, the only thing that Harry knew was truly definite. Everything else was a miasma of sound and the wind in his ears brushed it all away.

A curb. Harry stumbled and darted sideways, cane in front of him like a sagging lance, ready to impale anyone at knee-height. It crashed into something and it jarred Harry’s arm in one long sensation. He yanked it to the side and continued using some sense he wasn’t particularly aware of to dodge people, crashing into their arms and bags but never fully into anyone.

He heard voices from the left and spun on his feet, darting into what he hoped was an alley. His feet crashed into something metal and a loud clatter echoed. It was an alley after all, Harry noted from the echoes. He had to hide. Dennis must be close behind.

He felt around and found a trash can, crouching behind it and wedging himself as far into the wall as he could go. His lungs heaved for breath and he pushed his cane behind a second trash can. He heard Dennis’s voice. He stopped breathing, lungs screaming for air that they did not have.

It was dark and the sense of not knowing Dennis’s exact whereabouts, burned at Harry’s consciousness. A sob tried to rip free of his throat but Harry held it back, knowing full well that he was already badly hidden as it was. Any sound would be enough to alert someone to his presence.

He waited. The smell of garbage was rancid and sweet in his nose and the wall behind him was uneven and jabbed into his back. The trash can was metal and was cool unlike the air that was starting to heat up with the beginnings of summer. Sounds kept passing by, getting closer and louder and then fading off into the distance again.

He wasn’t sure how long he waited. Perhaps it was mere minutes, perhaps it was hours. Harry was broken from his dazed shaking by a quiet whisper on the air. He perked up, listening carefully, trying to filter through the sounds coming into the alleyway. The blissfully muted sounds.

“ _Harry? Are you here? Answer me!”_

It was Tom. He sounded terrified and worried beyond words. Harry felt a flash of guilt for making Tom so scared. He hissed into the stillness of the alley, “ _I’m here. Behind a garbage can.”_

A flash of gold and green and Tom, familiar home friend _Tom_ was there and holding Harry tight and all Harry could say was “ _It was so dark,”_ over and over like a broken record.

Harry never wanted to feel alone again.

* * *

  **November 17, 1937**

 **T** om raced ahead, grinning madly as he stayed just out of reach of Harry’s stretching fingers.

“ _Tom, you bastard_!” Harry yelled behind him, feet pounding a staccato against the packed sand. “ _Slow down_!”

“ _Don’t feel like it_ ,” Tom called over his shoulder, laugh piercing the cold air as he saw Harry’s furious face.

“ _I’ll get you_ ,” Harry said and Tom felt fingers skim the edge of his coat. Harry was faster than Tom but he always cut his speed for caution. Tom couldn’t find himself feeling particularly cheated though as it allowed him to taunt Harry into a hilarious rage.

“ _You can try_ ,” Tom said, leaping onto a large boulder and scrambling to the top, breathing heavily, before leaping to the next. Behind him, he could hear Harry’s winded breath as he flew to the top of the boulder, and a quiet whine escape his lips. Harry saw that he moved ahead, Tom thought, stopping his ascension of the next rock to turn around and shoot Harry a smirk. “ _Do you give up, little Dove_?”

Harry stared at him with a mutinous expression, hair falling in his eyes and face red with either exertion or the chill of the air. “Fine,” Harry muttered sullenly in English. “Let’s just keep going.”

“ _I am the victor_!” Tom said, climbing up the rest of the rock and balancing on the top, punching the air. “ _Everyone, bow down before Tom the Magnificent_!”

“ _Magnificent at being an arse_ ,” Harry said with a pinched expression.

“ _Oh, you wound me_ ,” Tom said, dramatically throwing an arm across his brow and slipping to his knees. “ _I have the most magnificent arse, that’s true_.”

“ _That’s not what I said_!” Harry said, eyebrows seemingly affected by extremely strong gravity.

“ _Thank you for the compliments_ ,” Tom said, smiling widely as Harry rolled his eyes before carefully climbing onto the rock Tom was standing on.

“ _You didn’t have to leave me behind, you know_ ,” Harry said.

Tom raised his eyebrows. “ _Now you’re just trying to make me feel guilty_.”

“Is it working though?” Harry asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he pulled himself level to Tom.

“Hmm,” Tom said, sitting down on the rock and placing a finger on his lips. “It’s hard to tell.”

“ _I guess it’s hard to think when you’ve got nothing in there_ ,” Harry said, singing voice laced with false sympathy as he poked Tom’s head. Tom shot him a glare but Harry only smiled innocently.          

“You’re terrible,” Tom finally decided with a giggle that he couldn’t be bothered to suppress.

“Look who’s talking,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow as he poked Tom in the head again.

“Fine, then we’re both terrible. Terrible, terrible!” Tom said, twisting around and looking behind him. They were close to the cave, he knew. They had found it two years ago during one of the orphanage’s annual trips to the beach. Since they always went in winter, when it was too cold outside to even think about swimming, Harry and Tom usually explored the rocks and the cliff sides around the little rocky beach. One time, they’d struck gold when they found an isolated cave with several chambers inside it that was both private but a brilliant place for practicing some of their flashier and more dangerous magic. Although Tom normally cursed Mrs. Cole and Martha for dragging them all out there during the winter, of all times, the discovery of the cave changed things.

Mrs. Cole’s cheapness and Martha’s favors had allowed them to find a place where they could do things... big things. More than they could risk doing in a shadowy nook in a park or in their room late at night.

They’d learned so much in the cave. Fireballs, cooling magic to complement their warming magic, how to heal themselves… although that was more of necessity following their experiments. How to push things back and move them around and how to change things. Also, on their most daring of days, Tom would practice what Harry called his “ordering voice.”

They couldn’t use most of it, of course, when in London, but it was still amazing to know that they could both do these things. That they were different and better than all of those ordinary _Muggles_ , Tom thought. That word had stuck in his mind from the first time Harry had mentioned it. An ugly word for the ordinary. It fit.

“ _Let’s go to the cave_ ,” Tom said, having located the small dark spot on the cliff that marked its location.

“ _You found it_?” Harry asked, leaning around Tom to peer in that direction. “ _Aw, your experiment didn’t work.”_

“ _You don’t see anything_?” Tom asked, feeling disheartened. Last time, they had left a lot of magic on the entrance. It had left them feeling suddenly tired. They had hoped that some of the magic would stay around the entrance for a year so that they could locate the cave quicker the next time they visited the beach.

“ _No_ ,” Harry said, leaning back. “ _Let’s go. Maybe I’ll see something as we get closer_.”

They both slid off the rock, feet splashing in a thin layer of water. Harry latched onto Tom’s coat as Tom began to navigate his way over to the cliff side. The rocky landscape around them was shiny and grey from the reflected clouds. As Tom and Harry moved forward, Tom grabbed onto Harry’s coat as well.

It helped steady him as they walked over broken rocks and mirrors of water. In the silence, memories of heavy dark water over his head asulted him.

Harry’s hand let go of Tom’s coat and slipped into Tom’s hand, which was cold from the chilly air. Tom felt himself relax a little bit. Harry’s hand was warm and reassuring, a sharp contrast to the overwhelming sense of unease Tom always got while he was anywhere near the sea.

“Thank you,” Tom whispered as he jumped onto the thin ledge that jutted out from the side of the cliff, moving a little and helping Harry steady himself on the ledge as he jumped as well. Harry hummed but said nothing, moving forward along the ledge, linked hands pulling Tom forward.

The ledge was narrow, only about two feet wide at its widest part. Tom and Harry pressed their backs against the cliff and inched sideways for a few minutes, the rocky stretch of the beach with its distant figures playing among the rocks in glorious view.

"You’re always so uncomfortable here when we’re not being loud,” Harry suddenly said. “Maybe we should steal some flower seeds and plant some here.”

“That would be a great idea,” Tom said, “if not for the fact that we’re here during winter.”

Harry stopped and turned toward him with an incredulous look on his face.

“What?” Tom asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Harry sighed dramatically. “Magic, Tom. I can’t believe you forgot. You’ve brought flowers back to life during winter before!”

“Oh,” Tom said. “I forgot.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, patting Tom on the head. “It’s okay. That’s why I’m around.”

It took only a few more steps before the ledge widened out and ended. On first glance, it seemed as if the cliff had shallowly cracked from the bottom up in a thin line. However, upon closer inspection the ledge curved around the edge of one of the cracks and, if one went in sideways being mindful of their knees, it widened out eventually.

Inside, it was dark and cool, filled with the scent of brine and stale air. The ledge grew until it was five feet wide and stretched in a half-circle around a pool of water where waves crashed at the ledge with violent force. The only light that entered the cave came from the thin vertical split, filtering in through the stone and filling the first cave with ghostly silver light.

“Do you want to work here?” Harry asked, looking at Tom. While the first cave was filled with silver light and was bright enough for Tom to easily sea in, the second cave “room” was further in and much darker.

“Sure,” Tom said. “If we want to do something flashier we can just move back.”

“Alright,” Harry said, walking up to the cave wall and plopping on the floor, leaning against it. “What do you want to do today?”

“I’m not sure,” Tom confessed, staring at the dark depths of the pool in the center of the cave before moving over to sit next to Harry.

“How about,” Harry began slowly, “we try to do stuff with water.”

Tom grimaced, giving a sullen look to the pool. The water glittered merrily in the weak lighting, as if mocking him.

“Come on!” Harry said. “We can make it fun. If we get wet, you just do your cleaning thing and I’ll dry our clothes.”

Tom allowed himself a smirk at the reminder that his cleaning magic was superior. Harry still caused his magic to explode sometimes. “Sure,” he said, standing up and stripping off his coat. He folded it into a neat pile along the wall, giving a stern look at Harry, who was holding out his coat as if about to drop it to the floor.

Harry grumbled but folded it in acquiescence before disappearing. Tom turned around to look for him but was met with a face full of salt water.

“Argh,” Tom sputtered, wiping at his eyes and plastering the bangs of his hair to the side. “That’s not fair.”

“ _All is fair in love and war_ ,” Harry teased before another handful of salt water gained intimate acquaintance with Tom’s eyes.

“ _Hey_ ,” Tom said, hissing before focusing on the cool pool of magic in his body. He pulled some of it violently toward the water, willing it to scoop up a handful of water and lob it at Harry’s blurry face.

To Tom’s dismay, he missed. Another glob of water hit his face, his eyes watering.

“I’m winning,” Harry said, smirking as he stood at the edge of the pool.

“ _Not for long_ ,” Tom said as he surged forward, hands moving forward as two thick streams of magic scooped up water and launched themselves at Harry from behind.

Harry ducked to the side and the water crashed into Tom.

Tom hissed wordlessly, his eyes stinging and his pride beaten down by five consecutive hits to the face. Before his mind could logically tick through his options, he found himself leaping for Harry, arms reaching out and magic alert. Before he crashed into Harry, he caught sight of a satisfied look in Harry’s glowing green eyes.

The fall into the water was slow. Harry’s eyes slowly slipped shut and Tom’s magic panicked and the dark pool of water got closer and closer until everything became dark and cold.

Tom flailed in the water, his hold on his magic gone and water rushing into his mouth and nose. He struggled against the black water that was sucking him down, pulling him down to drown, until the air was far away and he couldn’t breathe anymore and hands were holding him and keeping him from struggling-

Tom’s eyes snapped open, Tom dazedly wondering when they’d managed to close. Harry’s face was blurry and located right in front of his face and his ears registered a repeating sound of hissing and singing.

“ _Tom. Calm down. You’re fine. You can stand here; I tested it. Just calm down. You’re fine.”_

Tom gasped and stopped flailing, hands shooting to hold onto Harry’s shoulders. He stood there in the freezing water, just breathing heavily as Harry sung soft words into the silvery shadows of the cave.

“ _There’s nothing to be scared of,”_ Harry said. “ _You’re always so scared of the water now…”_

“ _With good reason_ ,” Tom said, teeth beginning to chatter.

“ _Still. Just calm down. Remember, you’re the ocean. You have nothing to fear.”_

_"Ocean?”_

_"Or the sea. Remember? You once told me that’s what your magic smelled like.”_

_“And looked like…”_

_"Yeah,”_ Harry said. _“Except now it’s all gold and green and the blue’s hidden underneath, just like mine. It’s still kind of like the ocean, though?”_

 _"In the sun,”_ Tom said and Harry gave a brilliant smile.

* * *

Once they got out of the pool – an effort that required much teamwork on their parts – Tom set to cleaning their clothes with magic while Harry wove careful warming charms over them. Both of them couldn’t resist giggling a little bit at the feeling of magic around them, dancing over their skin.

Harry and Tom practiced trying to make water from the air. Tom believed that since they could make fire from thin air, although Harry was the only one who had success in holding it so far, they could easily make water too. Harry was doubtful but nevertheless tried it.

“It’s the shapes,” Harry said. “The ones for fire are really basic and a lot of shapes look like that when they break.”

“Let’s do the shape-finding thing, then,” Tom said, scooping up a handful of water and making his magic hold it in a ball in one hand. Harry watched as Tom stuck out his second hand and his magic gathered in a gold riot, slowly becoming green as more powerful magic was pulled out into Tom’s fingertips. The magic began roiling, seeming to pull somewhat into a shape before snapping back into its chaotic mess.

Harry played with the buzzing strands of gold across his fingertips, pulling here and looping there. Water, Harry thought, thinking of the icy cold of the pool as he fell in, the way the water sluiced against his skin when he stood up and the feeling of lightness that the water created. To Harry’s delight, it seemed as if the golden magic was straining to form a shape. Harry let it loose from his preconceived notions and watched as the golden threads moved under his dancing fingertips until they settled in a series of shapes, arranged lightly in the air above his hands.

“Tom, is anything happening?” Harry asked, staring at the magic in his hands and examining it closely. The first shape looked sort of like a flower and the one beneath it looked like a sun. A strange, v shape was the final shape in the sequence.

“Yes,” Tom said, voice high. “Water’s appearing in your hands!”

Harry looked closer and within the magic he could see a slight dampening. He grinned. “We did it, Tom! And it took no time at all.”

“How many shapes?” Tom asked.

“You won’t believe it,” Harry said, unable to look away from the lazily glowing gold threads in his hands. “Three.”

Tom walked closer and grabbed onto Harry’s hands. “Harry! Stop looking at the pretty colors! Show me how to do it.”

“Okay, okay,” Harry said, flicking one hand and watching the golden threads fall apart, pulling on their remains so that he didn’t lose them. “Now just feel…”

Harry started pulling threads in Tom’s hands, arranging them into the proper shapes and trying to make the right orientation. “How does that feel?” Harry asked, making a few finishing touches to the golden tangle with three glowing knots.

“Like…water,” Tom said, smiling brightly as the golden light in his hands dimmed with the appearance of water. Harry’s eyes widened when Tom’s smile gained a dark edge. Before Harry could react, a bunch of water hit him straight in the face.

At least the water wasn’t salty, Harry consoled himself as he found himself running around the ledge of the cave, out of reach of Tom’s suddenly dripping hands.

After a few rounds of the cave, Harry was surprised when Tom began lobbing balls of water at his face. He increased his evasion but kept getting clipped by water anyway.

"I give up!” Harry called, running toward the entrance of the cave. “Have mercy!”

“Never,” Tom called as his footsteps sounded behind Harry with a clatter and echo.

Harry sped up as he got closer to the entrance only to hit something solid and soft. He fell heavily, hearing twin gasps and shrieks underneath his body. Harry picked himself up on his elbows and gaped because the voices sounded terribly familiar.

“Get off me, you freak!” Dennis’s voice called, punctuated by a punch to the stomach. Harry fell sideways, hands clutched over his stomach as it began aching. “Tom,” Harry managed to gasp out.

“We knew you were strange!” Amy’s voice shrieked. “Dennis, we need to tell Mrs. Cole!”

Harry heard the sounds of people scrambling to their feet next to him but before the sounds could transform into the pounding of running footsteps, a cold voice echoed throughout the cave, “You’re not going anywhere.”

Harry got to his feet, shakily stumbling over to Tom’s familiar form and whispering, “ _I’m okay. Oh Merlin, Tom. What do we do?”_

“Don’t try to run away,” Tom said, sticking out a hand and summoning a ball of fire, if what Harry could see of the shape was right. “Or you’ll get this in your faces.”

“You sick freak,” Dennis spat. “Billy said not to touch you anymore but you’re _wrong._ ”

“He said you killed his rabbit and Mrs. Cole told everyone to stay away from you,” Amy said, voice trembling. “But we can’t let you get away with it. Everyone ignores you now but that’s wrong! You’re evil!”

Harry inhaled sharply. “We’re not evil! You’re the evil ones!”

“Oh yeah?” Dennis asked. “Why’d you kill Billy’s rabbit? And we know you steal. You always have nicer things.”

“We’re going to tell someone,” Amy said. “We just saw you do your freakishness with our own eyes.”

Tom’s face was stony as he looked at Amy and Dennis before it twisted into a wicked smirk. “What are they going to do?” Tom asked softly, voice quiet but still carrying through the cave. “Who’s going to believe you? They’ve already tried exorcism and that didn’t work.”

Harry winced, chewing his lips and looking away at the reminder. He heard a quick scuffle on the floor and instantly his eyes turned towards Amy and Dennis as he registered that they were moving – they were getting _away._

Harry gave a cry of horror – they couldn’t get away because then they would tell someone and maybe someone would try to do something after all – and threw his magic forward, gold and green mixing and, to Harry’s shock, a touch of blue, in the mess. The magic formed great hands – claws – and suddenly two shadows were inside the magic and Harry found that it was hard to breathe.

“You can’t go,” Tom said, shooting Harry a quick look, eyes questioning.

“ _I’m okay,”_ Harry whispered. “ _I… I couldn’t let them get away. I’m sorry-“_

 _“Everything’s fine,”_ Tom said and walked forward.

“You thought you could get away,” Tom said, voice once again silky and lilting in a way that sounded like Parseltongue. A beautiful siren song of tones going up and down and smooth consonants transcribed into English.

Harry watched with wide eyes as thin strands of magic pulled out of Tom’s hair, especially his eyes, and flew forward towards the two shadows that Harry knew to be Amy and Dennis in his magic. He recognized the strands; it was what Tom had done to him by accident so long ago.

“You saw horrible things,” Tom said in a low voice that cracked slightly. “They will give you nightmares. You will never speak of them to anyone; you will not bother Harry anymore. You will be scared.”

The thin strands of magic pulsed in time with Tom’s words and wove themselves around the shadows like a vicious crown of thorns before shooting towards their targets.

There was a moment of silence in the air, inside the darkness, before Dennis and Amy screamed and went limp. Harry jerked, his grip on his magic failing and he heard the distinct sounds of Dennis and Amy hitting the ground. He could hear quiet sobbing start.

“ _Tom,”_ Harry whispered. “ _What was that?”_

Tom turned to stare at him with hollow eyes. Harry almost flinched before remembering that this was _his_ Tom, not the scary Tom that just did something strange to Amy and Dennis.

“ _I’m sorry,”_ Tom said. “ _I didn’t want to – I promised I wouldn’t do it-“_

 _"It’s okay,”_ Harry said, walking over to Tom and hugging him tightly. The adrenaline and fear was fading from his body and now all Harry felt was tired and cold. Tired and cold and unable to deal with anything, anymore.

“ _Can we just go?”_ Harry asked. “ _They’ll be alright… right?”_

“ _Probably,”_ Tom said, hugging Harry back so tightly that Harry’s bones creaked. “ _But at least we’re safe now,”_ he whispered.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Warnings: mild gore, drowning (kinda), pretty intense fear_
> 
> * * *
> 
> Note: I want to mention that I have made a slight historical error. School for British children has been mandatory since 5 years of age since 1880’s Elementary Education Act. When I finish this story, I’ll go back and fix this oversight as I polish and rewrite the other chapters. I made an assumption that I should have researched more thoroughly.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  _AN: I thought it would be ironic (and cute) if Tom liked flowers. I assure you it was only slightly inspired by A Very Potter Musical’s Quirrelmort._  
>    _Apologies for taking so bloody long to get this chapter out. Not only did I go on a small vacation with limited internet access but I also wanted to pay homage to the rabbit and cave incident from Tom’s canonical childhood and I was having trouble figuring out how to arrange and make the scenes occur without making everyone terribly out of character. After an hour’s worth of debate with the lovely friend I am writing this for and a few helpful reviews, I hope the result was satisfactory. Love you, Scarfy!_  
>  _Additionally, asurahozuki (Tumblr) or areli-p-rabbit (Deviantart) has created fanart for the Magicweaver! It can also be seen on my Tumblr. Thank you so much!_


	14. The Sun So Bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a little bit of content from HBP – namely, the conversation between Mrs. Cole and Dumbledore contains a few direct quotes. The famed Dumbledore encounter!

**July 24, 1938**

The magic flickered in his hands, slipping through his fingers in quick flashes as if it had a mind of its own. Harry bit his lip and willed it to slow down, watching as it twined around his fingers and spiraled in the air. In the background, he could hear the soothing hum of Tom's voice as he read aloud some science book he'd nicked.

The reading paused for a moment. " _Dove, I don't understand how you never get bored."_

" _It's pretty."_ It was the same answer to a familiar question. He smirked and sent a little tendril of magic over to Tom, who lounged on their bed. Harry bit his lip and concentrated as the tendril wavered with the distance as it drew closer to Tom's face.

" _Hey!"_ Tom scooted to the side. " _I can smell you trying to do something."_

" _I know,"_ Harry said, giving one last mental push and giggling when the tendril of magic brushed below Tom's nose. Tom twitched and sneezed, hands pressed against his face. He looked up at Harry, murder in his eyes.

" _I'll get you for that."_

" _Of course you will, Kit."_ Even if Tom did figure out how to tickle someone with his magic, it wouldn't be as effective on Harry as it was on Tom, with his magic smelling and all. Harry permitted himself a wicked grin as Tom made a face. Despite having the nickname 'Kit' for months following a conversation in which Harry had discovered the possibility of 'Tomcat' as a nickname, Tom still wasn't used to it. Whenever Harry used it, Tom bristled much like the cats he was named after.

" _Were you even listening to me?"_ Tom sniffed. " _If you're not listening, there's no point in wearing my voice out."_

" _It's obvious that you like reading aloud,"_ Harry said. " _I bet that even when I'm not around you read out loud like that."_

"I don't," Tom said, turning away and looking down at his book. Harry laughed, earning him a glare, and continued messing with the fine golden threads in his hands. The sun radiated a steady heat into Harry's skin. An occasional breeze slipped by and gave a temporary reprieve from the heat.

This summer was turning out to be very hot, Harry mused. If not for cooling magic – something that they'd decided was essential to master – they would likely have been burnt to a crisp.

A little while later, Harry got up and stretched, feeling the bones in his back creak. " _Hey, Kit_. _I'm going to find Alyssa."_

* * *

 

"Alright, done," Alyssa said after a minute of domino flipping. "Choose yours."

Harry pulled out six dominoes at random, moving them into the cross of his legs and feeling with a fingertip for the identifying marks. He was about to move when a polite knocking sounded on the door of the lobby.

Alyssa got up with a sigh as the sound in the room blinked out like a snuffed candle. "Someone, get Mrs. Cole or Martha."

He let his hand fall to the ground as he looked up and noticed Tom's face, of all people's, peeking out from the wall on the third floor. Tom's magic was agitated and swirling in scythes of anxiety, magic leaking through the wall. Harry's eyes locked on the blue of the magic showing in Tom's eyes before flitting toward the door.

Restless with sudden anticipation, Harry got up too, looking in the direction of the door. He froze as something ivory and pale green danced through the wood. It was as if his brain had stopped, exploding with sounds and images from his memories. Discussions he'd had with Tom – _"We should get a letter? Or maybe someone will come, seeing as we live here after all." "Are you sure?" "Of course." –_ threw themselves in the forefront of his mind. Was this it?

Harry's feet started carrying him to the staircase without his consent, racing up the stairs toward Tom. Harry's eyes kept looking back at the door, the door which was slowly opening… the door which stopped holding back the brilliance of the magic there. It was like a small sun, a blazing human shape with flares of yellow-green. It was bright and white and it made Harry's eyes water. Before Harry was fully aware of it, he lurched and his feet moved and he was on the third floor staring into Tom's wide eyes.

"Get behind the wall," Tom said, pulling Harry behind him. "I'll tell you what's going on."

"What does he smell like?" Harry asked, hands shaking with something that could have been nervousness or excitement. "He looks like the sun."

"Something strange and minty," Tom said absently, head still peeking out and observing the proceedings. "A bit like those lemon candies you hate."

"What's happening?" Harry asked. He could hear the murmur of voices – a new voice he wasn't familiar with that sounded like condensed good humor and geniality.

"Mrs. Cole just walked up to him," Tom said. "His hair is auburn but he looks like he could be in his forties. I also can't figure out what he's wearing. It's some suit but it's horrid. It looks like someone spilled bright purple paint on it. He's talking to her…they're going upstairs." Tom's voice pitched high for a second. Tom's hand grabbed his and Harry let himself be dragged through the doorway of the nearest room.

Tom kept peeking around the corner and down. Harry could hear the sound of voices, but to his dismay, they were indistinct through the wood of the door. " _Can you hear what they're saying?"_ Harry asked in a low hiss, guaranteed to escape the hearing of anyone but Tom.

" _Some. They're saying something about an appointment. Do you think…"_

" _It has to be."_

" _They're going into Mrs. Cole's office. Martha's at the door – wait no, she just left – and the door's shut. Come on, let's listen at the door."_

Harry crept down the hallways and the stairs after Tom and they settled at the door, ears pressed against the door. Behind them, a few inquisitive faces peered out from the staircase, also curious about the strange man without a hint of fashion sense.

"I am here, as I told you in my letter, to discuss Tom Riddle and arrangements for his future," the stranger said in a calm and pleasant voice that spoke of endless patience.

"Are you family?" Mrs. Cole asked, sounding nervous. The stranger must have been quite a character.

"No, I am a teacher," the stranger said. "I have come to offer Tom a place at my school."

Harry exchanged a look with Tom, reading the excitement in Tom's eyes just as Tom did the same. " _Merlin…"_ Harry whispered.

"What school's this, then?"

"It is called Hogwarts."

Harry grinned at the confirmation and next to him, Tom gave a quiet, relieved sigh before turning to Harry with a look of consternation. " _Hogwarts? Seriously? I thought you were joking or didn't remember it correctly from all those years ago."_

Harry shrugged. " _You get used to it."_

Mrs. Cole continued asking questions about the teacher and the validity of Tom's acceptance into the school. The teacher responded with ambiguous answers to her questions, never giving Mrs. Cole a complete answer about Tom's qualifications. However, next Mrs. Cole brought up the subject of Tom's parents.

"Who registered him? His parents?"

Tom's hand found Harry's and squeezed it in a vice grip.

"Here," the stranger said. Harry heard some rustling of fabric. Next to Harry, Tom inhaled sharply as the stranger said, "I think this will make everything clear."

" _I smelled mint,"_ Tom whispered right into Harry's ear. Harry nodded and turned his head a tiny amount to see if magical activity on the teacher's part would allow some of the stranger's magic enough free reign to travel through the door. Despite Harry's hopes, whatever magic Tom detected remained invisible to Harry's eyes, the door a frustrating barrier.

"That seems perfectly in order," Mrs. Cole said, slurring her words the slightest bit. Harry and Tom exchanged looks – she couldn't be drunk. Not now, at least. "Er – may I offer you a glass of gin?"

"Thank you very much," the teacher said. There was the sound of pouring liquid and the clink of glass. Mrs. Cole's smacked together in a familiar way as the teacher continued asking questions.

To both Harry and Tom's surprise, instead of further investigation on Mrs. Cole's part, the teacher started asking about Tom's origins. Tom's hand squeezed tighter. Harry's thoughts danced for a second; what did the teacher wish to know?

" _Tom…I think he's trying to find out if your parents are magical or not."_

Tom pursed his lip before responding. " _I think it's safe to say he won't be very successful on that part."_

The subject of Tom's parentage was a bit of a sore point. Tom remained adamant that if he had at least one magical parent, it would be his father. His mother – dying from something as mundane as childbirth – wasn't a possible candidate.

To Harry's dismay and anger, Mrs. Cole began her dramatic retelling of the night Tom arrived. Spreading information like that to someone who was, at the moment, nothing more than a stranger!

Tom grit his teeth, face contorting into something that Harry could recognize as rage. His magic lay still for a long, endless moment before it started roiling. The information was familiar, but Harry knew that it hurt Tom every time he heard it nevertheless. Harry himself had his memories. He knew his mother's red hair and warm smile, his father's brown eyes and hugs. All Tom had was a mere story, just one of the numerous stories that littered the air of the orphanage. Harry leaned in and placed his hand on Tom's shoulder, tugging at his magic in warning.

The stranger probed for more information, asking about last words and whether Mrs. Cole knew anything about Tom's father. While Harry could understand why the teacher might want to know this information, it didn't mean that he wasn't being very rude about digging around in Tom's past. Harry had the urge to stab him with knives for prolonging the reminder. Of course, they _were_ eavesdropping, but that wasn't the point. The stranger continued, "Anything about the boy's father, for instance?"

"Now, as it happens, she did," said Mrs. Cole, excited for a chance to say her story. Most of the other orphans didn't appreciate her grim retellings. "I remember she said to me, 'I hope he looks like his papa,' and I won't lie, she was right to hope it, because she was no beauty-"

Tom's fingernails dug into the skin of Harry's hand.

"-And then she told me he was to be named Tom, for his father, and Marvolo, for _her_ father – yes, I know, funny name, isn't it? We wondered whether she came from a circus – and she said the boy's surname was to be Riddle. And she died soon after that without another word."

" _You're Kit, now,"_ Harry whispered, and Tom gave him a weak smile. " _We're Dove and Kit."_

Mrs. Cole wrapped up her long story, concluding with the clink of a glass and the sound of gin splashing against the empty cup. After a few seconds of silence, her voice, before light and drunk, darkened a bit. "He's a strange one."

Harry's eyes widened and met Tom's.

" _She won't tell him everything, right?"_ Tom asked.

" _We'll see."_

"Yes," the stranger said, "I thought he might be."

Mrs. Cole began spouting off small details, chronologically listing all the strange things she'd noticed about Tom before trailing off. Harry held his breath as the teacher prodded Mrs. Cole for more details.

There was an intake of breath before Mrs. Cole began firing rapid questions. Was Tom accepted, no matter what? The teacher, bemused, assured her that Tom would always have a place at Hogwarts. Tom's magic, having settled down some, picked up its furious dance. " _She wouldn't."_

" _They can't refuse us,"_ Harry said with confidence. " _As he said, we have to be taught. No matter what she says, she doesn't know even half of everything."_

"He scares the other children," Mrs. Cole said. "He and that Harry boy."

"You mean he – they are bullies?"

There was a long silence before Mrs. Cole said, quiet words lingering in the air, "There have been _incidents._ "

A surge of magic from a corner of Harry's eye made him turn his head. He saw, hopeful, as Tom's magic swirled once around him in a maelstrom of gold with a touch of green and threw itself through the wood of the door as if it wasn't there. Harry watched, eyes attuned to Tom's magic most of all, as it moved forward.

From inside the room, there was the scrape of a chair against the floor. Silence reigned. The stranger asked after a few minutes, "Incidents?"

"I'd supposed you'd like to see him," Mrs. Cole said, and Harry cheered as she moved away from dangerous territory.

"Of course," the stranger said but Harry could detect a lingering interest in his voice. Despite Tom's obvious misgivings, Harry couldn't feel too worried. While it had the possibility of complicating things if the strange teacher found out about their past, surely he would understand. He was a wizard himself, after all. And, most of their actions had been in defence. And if their acquisition of sweets wasn't completely necessary, Harry could concede fault.

There was another screech of a chair and rustling cloth. Tom stood up, pulling Harry's hand, nails digging into his skin. " _Come on!"_

Tom stumbled, but then they raced to the stairs and flew up them, fleet-footed in their shared fear and excitement. They heard the door to Mrs. Cole's office open, but by that time they were already on the third floor, turning into their room.

" _Act casual!"_ Tom hissed, throwing himself onto the bed. His magic was moving more like it used to, but Harry could tell that he was still rattled.

" _What do you mean by that?"_ Harry asked, torn. " _You took the bed; what am I supposed to do?"_

" _Here, grab the book."_ Tom sent a book flying at Harry with magic and Harry grabbed at it, fingertips managing to snag a few pages, staring incredulously at Tom. " _Tom, I can't see. Are you stupid?"_

" _It doesn't matter; he's coming!"_ Harry threw himself to the floor under the window, opening the book to a random page and hoping that he wasn't holding it upside down. He hissed in annoyance as Tom chuckled under his breath.

There were two knocks on the door.

* * *

 

Albus contemplated the things he saw in Mrs. Cole's eyes. When she spoke of Tom, there was true fear and anxiety hidden in her gaze as well as an unhealthy dose of caution. It was as if young Tom had done something she feared and thought terrible.

It was truly strange how one child could have terrified an adult to that extent. Maybe even more than that, Albus pondered because the glimpses of inside her mind when the conversation moved to Tom had featured Tom and the other boy – Harry – always apart from the group and subject to a wide range of looks ranging from nervousness to rage or fear.

From what he had seen, Tom Riddle was an intelligent child and had likely figured out that he wasn't like his muggle peers from an early age. It seemed as if he had some control over his magic – enough to encourage wariness in everyone else. He also seemed to be close to a boy named Harry; in fact, in every memory Mrs. Cole had of Tom, Harry wasn't far away.

Did Harry know about magic? Being close to Tom as he was, it was likely that he had some awareness of it. Seeing as Harry seemed to be someone Tom was truly close to, he could almost be construed as family. That way, Tom would be able to keep that boy as a part of his life during the summer holidays. Secrets drove people apart, after all.

But what worried Albus the most – what his mind kept circling back to – was the way Mrs. Cole faltered as he asked about the incidents. Her eyes had darted around in fear and she seemed reluctant to speak. The lack of eye contact was frustrating; Albus hadn't managed to even grab a glimpse. Then, a brief wind swept into the room and Mrs. Cole's chair moved and, from the fear in her eyes, Albus was certain that the movement was not made by her. Was it Tom? Was he perhaps listening outside the door? Albus hadn't thought to ward the room against eavesdroppers. How much had he heard?

Albus strolled down the hallway, his suit feeling constricting. He much preferred his loose robes with something light thrown on underneath, not the many-piece monstrosities that he had seen Muggles wearing on the streets. Not to mention the lack of originality; everything was patterned brown, black, or grey! The only ones to reliably have some color in their wardrobe were the children. Perhaps Tom would appreciate a respectable plum.

Mrs. Cole stopped at the last door on the left and rapped twice before entering. "Tom, you've got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberton – sorry, Dumberbore. He's come to tell you – well, I'll let him do it." Mrs. Cole turned, about to leave, before turning back. "Harry, give the two some privacy."

Albus smiled as he ambled in after her, letting his eyes dance around the room, taking in its occupants. A young boy with dark hair and grey eyes was lounging upon the single bed in the room with a book in his hands. Next to him, sitting on the ground underneath the window was another lad with dark hair and calm green eyes, with a book in his lap. There was a dresser and a wardrobe on one side of the room. The boy on the bed flipped a page of his book before looking up.

Albus bit back a smile. The boy on the bed was trying hard to be casual, but his posture betrayed his stiffness. Upon closer examination, the lad on the floor had his book upside down. "It's alright," Albus reassured Mrs. Cole. "I'm sure he won't be any trouble." Albus needed to examine whether the lad had any knowledge of magic first.

Mrs. Cole's eyes glittered but she nodded and left, closing the door behind her.

"Hello. Tom Riddle, I presume?"

The youngster on the bed raised an eyebrow but replied, "Yes."

Albus turned toward the young man on the floor. "And who might you be?"

The boy on the floor, eyes still panicked, quietly said, "Harry Potter."

Albus's stomach seemed to drop. Next, a wave of horror and shock rushed through his very bones as a sense of relief danced through his veins. Harry Potter. The boy he'd searched for so many years back before admitting a victory to Gellert. It turned out Gellert didn't have Harry after all; he was in a Muggle orphanage all along! The years of memories that Albus saw in Mrs. Cole's eyes underscored the fact that Harry had been at the orphanage for a long time.

But how had he gotten there? No doubt Gellert was searching for him too – he had gone after his parents personally. It stood to reason that Gellert was interested in Harry as well. But Harry had been hidden in a small, run-down Muggle orphanage right in the middle of London all these years, evading all forms of magical detection that Dumbledore could employ.

Albus wanted to take Harry right then and there and get him to safety. Under some strong wards, of course, with some Light, loving family. Out of reach of Gellert's quick, thieving hands. But as soon as this thought ticked through Albus's brain, he rejected it. Whatever the reason, Harry had been virtually undetectable all these years. Would it be safer to keep him where he was?

It was evident there was another player at hand, guiding with invisible hands. Dumbledore wondered who it could be – not many people were capable of performing such complex magic that they hid one child so thoroughly. What he wouldn't give to get into contact with this unnamed entity.

Albus smiled and held out a hand. "How do you two do?"

Tom got up from the bed and shook Albus's hand. His sharp grey eyes danced over Dumbledore's face, searching. Dumbledore restrained the urge to employ Legilimency. Not yet. Searching Harry's mind was a matter of utmost importance. Perhaps he had some inkling of his protector? What did he remember from that night, so many years ago? Was he safe?

Harry got up and walked over as well, shaking Albus's hand with a light grip. His eyes darted around everywhere, not even coming close to Albus's eyes. Albus had forgotten; the boy was blind. Would Legilimency even work on him?

"So, who exactly are you?" Tom asked, looking at Albus with curious eyes. Albus frowned. There was the strangest accent in Tom's voice; each word was careful and enunciated in such a way that his voice sounded unusually musical.

"I am Professor Dumbledore," Albus said. "I work at a school called Hogwarts. I've come to offer you a place there, as well as Harry here." Despite the lack of a letter, there was no way that Harry would not attend Hogwarts. Even if his finding had been delayed, he was here now. And despite the success of his protection, Hogwarts was still the safest place he could be. Gellert would not even dream of touching him there.

Tom's eyes widened a little bit, brimming with surprise. A magnificent actor, he was, but Albus had been a teacher for years and had an unusual affinity for detecting lies. He fought down a chuckle. It appeared as if his conversation with Mrs. Cole didn't lack curious ears.

"It is a school of magic," Albus continued and once again, Tom's face showed immense surprise and disbelief. When he glanced at Harry out of the corner of his eyes, his face was calm as his eyes gazed vaguely in Albus's direction.

"I take it you are not surprised?"

"No, we're not," Harry's soft voice answered, also lyrical. "Can we see the letter?"

Albus's eyes flicked over to Tom and he saw a small tightening of his lips. Ah, Harry had let the cat out of the bag. His eyes fixed onto Harry's face. He had been five when he disappeared…so he wasn't facing two new green wizards. They had an understanding of magic. Albus looked down and pulled out a letter from his pocket, tapping it with his wand to remove a small crease before he handed it to Tom. Tom took it, sitting down with eyes flying over the paper as he began to murmur the words under his breath. Harry sat down next to him, head tilted to the side.

"I don't have one for Mr. Potter but the information is the same. I'm sorry," he said, looking at Harry, "but I didn't expect to find you here."

Harry hummed in response as Tom finished reading the letter out loud. "Where do we go to get these? And money?" Tom voiced.

"Diagon Alley," Albus said. "There's a fund to provide for orphans. I'm afraid I did not expect two orphans here so this won't be enough," he said, pulling out a leather money pouch, "but it should do for now. You might have to get most of your materials secondhand."

Tom took it from his hands, feeling the weight before handing it off to Harry. Albus debated about what to do with Harry Potter now. He had a sizeable trust vault, that was true, but if Harry Potter entered Gringotts…would Gellert find out? He had eyes everywhere. Eyes at Hogwarts too, no doubt. Harry Potter could not come to Hogwarts or any magical school. But he had to have a magical education.

Would the shielding of the mysterious force behind Harry's disappearance hold under Hogwart's wards? Albus could not rely on that, no. Albus peered at the boys closely. They both had dark hair, although Harry's was messy while Tom's was neat, despite being wavy. Their eyes were green and grey. They looked similar and spoke with the same singing cadence…perhaps it could work.

"Harry," Albus said. Green eyes looked straight at him as if Harry could see him. How curious.

"Yes?"

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news," Albus said, "but there is a terrible man looking for you. A terrible man named Gellert Grindelwald. Your last name is too recognizable."

Harry's eyes widened in recognition and his hand curled into the thin blanket of the bed. Albus sighed, not sure if he should feel relief or not that Harry was aware of his danger.

"I would recommend that you go by an alias. You and Tom look similar," Albus said, looking out the window of the orphanage. There was an empty, warehouse building outside and if Albus stood a little straighter, he could see the top of some playing structure.

"Harry Riddle?" Tom proposed, raising an eyebrow.

Albus nodded. "I can change the name in the documents."

"Pardon my asking," Harry cut in, "but why are you helping?"

"My boy," Albus said, "I'd do anything to stop the forces of evil." He laughed in the depths of his own mind at the truth of those words. Leaving a boy in a ramshackle orphanage was the least of his crimes for his beliefs.

"How do we get to Diagon Alley?" asked Harry after a long pause.

"I can escort you-"

"We'd prefer to go ourselves," Tom interjected.

Albus nodded. "As you please. The entrance to Diagon Alley is located in The Leaky Cauldron pub, located on Charing Cross road. Ask Tom, the bartender, for help."

Albus stood up, turning toward the door. "Your train tickets are also inside the letter. When you arrive at the station on September first, there will be a pillar – a barrier – between platforms nine and ten. It is an illusion. Walk through it to reach platform nine-and-three-quarters."

"Thank you," Harry said and Albus nodded as he walked out the door, wondering what the coming year would have in store for him, now with two strange children, one of them a probable subject of interest for Grindelwald, at Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A huge amount of thank-yous goes to lowonbattery for pulling my wild ideas back within the reach of earth's gravitational pull. Thank-yous go to Scarfy for making sure my ego doesn't completely deflate w all the holes punched into it._
> 
> _Dumbledore's magic smells quite similar to a mojito just because I can make it that way ;D_


	15. The Man of Dust and Leaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Tom make their way to Diagon Alley where they find out that nothing is what it seems and that perhaps their secret is more dangerous than they had expected.

**July 25, 1938**

Tom thought that it was lucky that he had such a good memory. Over his and Harry's various escapades into London, away from the watching eyes of either Martha or an older orphan, they had managed to traverse much of the city. Although they had both heard of it, it was lucky that Tom remembered seeing a Charing Cross road a few times that they had ventured beyond the immediate location of the orphanage. If his memory served him right – and it had never failed so far – they would be able to locate the road after perhaps an hour's walk. Hopefully the road was not very long; it would be terrible to walk all that way just to reach it only to have to continue for an even longer distance.

Tom and Harry hadn't explored much of London on the other side of the Thames, preferring to stay closer to home. There was something about the barrier of a river, bridges as the only crossings, that made both Tom and Harry nervous. Still, Tom kept going over his memories for a glimpse of The Leaky Cauldron, as the professor had said.

" _Dove, do you remember seeing a large amount of magic located in one building? I'm trying to remember if I saw any place called The Leaky Cauldron but so far, I'm without luck."_

Harry turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow. " _Tom, don't you think I would have mentioned it?"_

Tom sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. " _Just checking."_

" _I know, the situation makes me nervous too."_ Harry gave a grin. " _But come on, Kit! This way, it's an adventure. The valiant heroes travel to unfamiliar lands, in search of a mysterious pub that is the key to their success!"_

" _There's a chance the valiant heroes might get lost and would be forced to put off their search for another day, though,"_ Tom said, giving an innocent smile to a man who had looked at him funny for his hissing. While they could lower their hissing to the point where most people disregarded it as nothing but background noise, people managed to occasionally link the whispering sound to their lips, not the sound of something on the wind.

Harry huffed and shoved Tom, speeding up for a second before falling back to walk beside him again. "How much farther?"

"A few blocks away, I think," Tom said, seeing Harry's eyes light up in excitement.

"Do you think we have enough money?" Harry asked. "He said that he only had enough for one person."

"I'm sure we can figure it out."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked.

"Of course I am," Tom said with false bravado.

They walked on in silence aside from a few comments on their surroundings made by Tom whenever he saw something of interest. As they walked past a statue of a man on a horse and they entered Charing Cross road, Tom nudged Harry and whispered, " _We're here."_

The city was coming alive at a slow pace as the sun began peeking out from behind the roofs of a nearby cinema. The street seemed to be unremarkable, if not crowded with sights and sounds and smells much more intense than Tom was used to. However, it was such a mess that Tom thought that the mysterious Leaky Cauldron, invisible to the average passerby, was located in a fitting place. How brazen it was to have hidden a doorway into a magical world amidst so many Muggle crowds?

Harry's eyes were scanning ahead of them, looking for any sign of magic. Tom took deep breaths and searched for the taste of magic on his tongue, meeting nothing but dust and the smell of human bodies. They walked at a steady pace up the street, two mere souls against a tide of hundreds. But two special souls, Tom thought, because they were magic, and they were more.

The buildings seemed to blur by as Tom focused more of his attention on his other senses. He had no idea how long they had been walking when something tingling, something that could only be _magic,_ danced on his tongue. Tom's hand took Harry's and gave a squeeze.

" _Keep an eye out."_

" _Will do,"_ Harry laughed. " _What does it smell like?"_

Tom's eyes fluttered closed as he dove into disassembling the riot of flavors, all interwoven in a great pattern that he couldn't make sense of. " _There are so many…I am not sure. Just when I think I have an idea, I turn out to be wrong."_

The smell was getting stronger the closer they walked, curling itself around Tom in an infuriating mess. It was taunting, it was confusing, and it got exponentially stronger the further they walked.

" _I can see it,"_ Harry's voice whispered, his step faltering. " _There are so many colors…I haven't seen so many colors in a long time."_

Tom began looking ahead through the crowds, looking for the source of the smell, the place that Harry could see. It took Tom a moment to realize that the shady, ordinary-looking pub a few buildings ahead was their doorway into magic. It hadn't been the sign that drew Tom's attention – it was more the strange distance in front of it, people moving away with nary a thought. As they walked up to it, Tom could detect even more whispers of smells dancing at the edge of his consciousness.

Harry moved forward and opened the door.

They entered a dark room, grimy and filled with people dressed in strange clothes and brimming with the scent of magic. Tom felt faint as it all assaulted his senses, leaning on Harry as the conflicting scents of the magic overwhelmed his brain with more input than he could comprehend. There was the smell of plants and food and metal and fabric and what could have been the smell of manure, even…

" _Tom,"_ Harry's excited voice whispered. " _I can see. I can see everything! It's almost as if there's nothing wrong with me anymore."_ Harry turned to look at Tom and paled. " _Are you okay? Tom?"_

"I'm not feeling very well," Tom said, dropping into the closest chair nearby.

"Why, what is it?" Harry asked, leaning forward and staring into Tom's eyes.

Tom put his hands to his face and took a deep breath, cringing as the smell – the taste – intensified. "There's too much," he said, urging Harry to understand that this was an unprecedented situation where for once, while Harry was in his element, he was out of sync. Where for Harry it was a blessing, right now it was starting to become a headache for Tom.

"Ah," Harry breathed, leaning closer and bringing a hand up. With it, the faint smell of ice and winter invaded Tom's senses with such a strong force that all of the other smells quieted in the distance, held back where Tom could now process them at his leisure.

Tom sighed, leaning back into his chair. "What did you do, wrap me in a bubble?"

"Something like that," Harry said, looking at him with concern. "Do you want to continue? We can just sit here for a while."

"No, let's go. We might as well see what we'd came for."

They stood up, Harry walking over to the counter where a young fellow was polishing a tankard with a rag so filthy Tom thought that even the orphanage wouldn't have kept it.

"Hello sir," Harry said, looking down as if blushing, "could you help us get into Diagon Alley? We were told…"

"Of course!" the bartender said with a cheery smile, dropping the rag and tankard and bounding over to a door in the corner. "New students, I take it?"

"Yes," Tom said, crinkling his nose when the opening of the door yielded another influx of magic that hummed underneath the ice.

"Wait jus' a second," the man – probably the Tom that Dumbledore had mentioned – said, humming as he pulled out a stick much like the one Dumbledore had used. "M'name's Tom, I'm the bartender of this fine establishment. Watch here closely," he said as he tapped his magic stick in a strange pattern across the bricks.

The bricks danced open and Tom's knees weakened as the ice wasn't enough to hold back the magic.

* * *

Harry was feeling conflicted. He could finally see. It was glorious! Everything in the pub had been draped in thin blankets of magic of shimmering colors. While the intensity of the color and the sheer amount of magic in the area was a bit disorienting, Harry didn't mind because for once, he didn't have to worry about crashing into a chair or having to rely on Tom for help. He was able to move around on his own as he pleased because now…he wasn't vulnerable. He was in a new world with magic and power and more of the glittering threads, a tapestry that blocked in what had been missing for Harry for over five years. But…Tom wasn't faring as well.

His magic roiled around him, confusion and irritation evident with the restless circling of his threads. And when Tom entered the pub with Harry, he had almost collapsed, leaning on him with his magic screaming in distress. While for Harry, this world was salvation, for Tom it was a nightmare.

As the nice bartender chatted and touched the glowing points Harry could see on the wall, Harry moved closer to Tom. If a pub was bad enough, he wasn't sure what would happen to Tom if he encountered Diagon Alley, a street just filled with magic of all kinds. As an extra precaution, Harry's hands twisted and he threw another layer of his magic around Tom just as the magic in the wall began looping back and revealing Diagon Alley.

Tom's face turned nauseated and Harry grabbed the underside of his arm just in time as Tom's knees gave out. Tom's magic calmed and his face relaxed, although he was still looking unwell.

"Here ya boys are! Welcome to the Wizardin' World!" The bartender – Tom as well – waved them on. Harry smiled at him and thanked him, eyes flicking back to Tom. Tom's lips were pulled into a grimace and he latched onto Harry's arm as well. Harry walked forward, Tom giving a halfhearted wave of goodbye to the bartender as they made their way into Diagon Alley proper.

It was glorious. Delicate arches of pale blue framed houses, a matrix of thinner threads filling the spaces between the thicker lines. Yellow magic shaped the next building and the one after that was light green and red. The whole street stretched down, buildings of and people of all colors filling Harry's sight. The sound was overwhelming – unfamiliar words littered the air – and the smells of sweets and small vendor snacks suffused the air with a warm, meaty scent. Even with all of the sensory overload…it was beautiful, it was great, and Harry almost didn't need Tom's help at all.

" _Are you okay?"_ Harry whispered to Tom, whose eyes were darting around in excitement. His grimace had turned into a weak smile.

" _Better. This place…it's so different_."

"I know!" Harry said in English, hopping in excitement. "I can remember some stuff and I know there's a great café down the street that sells the best ice cream!"

Tom shook his head. "Harry, we don't have any money. All we have is that pouch Dumbledore gave us."

"Hey, I didn't get one. Remember, he forgot it? He mentioned a fund for kids like us. Do you think we can find where it is?"

"A bank, then."

"I don't remember a bank so let's just keep looking, okay?"

Tom nodded and they waded through the large crowds, content to just see the sights. Harry asked Tom to provide commentary on what they were passing, as none of the signs were enchanted. Tom was happy to oblige.

"Well," Tom said, amusement evident, "on our right we have Syke's Apothecary, complete with a window display of jars with unnamable things inside them. On our left… is Potage's Cauldron shop. Oh, a pawnshop called Niffler's Den…we might have to visit it if we cannot get more money. I wonder what a Niffler is? And Siren Strings, it looks like a musical instrument shop and oh-"

Harry listened to Tom's excited rambling with a fond smile, drinking in the sight of the shops and the information Tom was reciting about them. As Tom grew more and more excited about their surroundings, his posture straightened back into its perfect form and his magic began moving about animatedly behind its delicate golden shield.

"Dove, I found a café – wonder if it's the one you remember? It's called Madam Fancourt's Confectionary Delights."

Harry pondered over it for a moment but shook his head in denial. "I didn't go out that often for sweets. I remember the Quidditch shop best. And hey, is that a bank up ahead?"

Tom's eyes searched the crowd and he nodded, a blank mask falling over his face. Harry sighed as Tom began to stride forward with long, determined strides, with Harry falling into step behind him. They made their way through the crowd, brushing by people in a myriad of colors as they reached the imposing building covered in a sheer layer of bronze magic. Next to the open doors was a strange creature, practically a solid block of bronze. He was far more solid than most of the people that Harry had seen today. Not as solid as Tom or Professor Dumbledore were, but very close. And his magic did not dance around his skin. It was as if it was locked underneath skin of glass, roiling within invisible confines. As they entered the doors, Harry informed Tom with a whispering hiss, of the strange creature, which he presumed was a goblin from his childhood memories.

They walked into a grand hall, laced with bronze magical streamers along every surface. Their footsteps echoed across the hall, which was rather quiet despite the multitudes of wizards at the counters. Although bronze magic covered everything Harry could see with various patterns, the intensity of the single color when Harry was so used to seeing black or Tom's green, blue and gold made it difficult to discern any details. Harry ground his teeth in irritation and squinted his eyes as he followed Tom's confident pace up to an empty teller.

Tom's hands twitched, magic anxious, as his calm voice asked, "Excuse me, but is there any way to collect additional funds from the Hogwarts orphan fund? There was a slight mistake and my cousin did not get any money with which to buy his supplies."

Harry gave a little start at being called Tom's cousin. Despite having time to get used to the idea, it still seemed a bit strange. It was too new of a lie. A stranger at the nearest teller twitched, his magic showing curiosity. Harry kept his gaze fixed on him but the stranger gave no more odd signals.

The bronze being behind the counter shifted, voice rumbling. "Gringotts has not been made aware of any mistakes with Hogwarts' Orphan and Muggleborn Fund. Identification?"

Tom's magic flickered in irritation but his voice was smooth and collected. "Would my Hogwarts letter be enough? They didn't have a letter for Harry but he's definitely magical; Professor Dumbledore confirmed it."

"Letter then, please," the goblin spit out with mild distaste, "though Hogwarts never makes mistakes with its letters." Tom gave a quiet hiss under his breath and pulled out the letter and the coin pouch, placing both on top of the counter with more force than was polite. Harry pinched Tom on the arm as he moved forward and peered over the counter.

"Well, there was a mistake this time. Can I prove I'm magical so I can get money for my supplies?"

"There are some blood tests but they will require money. They can determine magical status, among other things."

"We'll do that, then," Tom said, pushing forward the coin pouch. The goblin pulled it over to him, looking inside.

"You don't have enough. Do you have any other business here? If not, have a nice day," the goblin said, voice flat.

Tom's magic snapped around him with vicious force, the air around him vibrating. The goblin twitched but said nothing as Tom pulled the bag back and turned around, walking away with strides that were far too even. Harry sighed as he followed Tom out of the building.

" _Calm down, Kit. We'll just ration the money out like we planned. Maybe we can steal stuff."_

Tom took a few deep breaths before nodding. "We have to speak English, Dove, remember?"

"Oh," Harry said. "I keep forgetting."

"Until we find out more, we'll stick to English. Anyway," Tom said, pulling out the list from his pocket, parchment crackling, "we should buy the essentials first. That means wands. We don't know how much they're worth; based on how important they seem to be, they must be very expensive."

Harry murmured his assent and they continued walking down the Alley, past the bank and several intersections. Tom eventually resumed his commentary, which proved to be just as interesting – if not more subdued – than before.

"Knut Market, you said?" Harry interrupted at some point. He hadn't heard of it before but if the name was accurate, they would be spending much time there after getting their wands.

"Yes, why?"

"Knuts aren't worth much. We might be able to get some of our supplies there."

Tom hummed in response. They walked down the Alley for a few more minutes before Tom's magic snapped out of its lazy swirling, springing to attention. "Found a place that sells wands. Ollivander's."

They walked up to a small shop, Tom wrinkling his nose and Harry bursting with excitement. The shop was so covered in magic that it looked solid, almost as solid as the bank and the goblins looked. It was also a rainbow of colors, some woven into intricate patterns. To Harry's delight, he recognized a few of the shapes in them.

The air inside the shop seemed stale, as if it had been eons since fresh air had graced the room. There was a faint scent of polish on the air that Harry could detect, as well as the smell of wood. Tom's nose was twitching and taking into account the harsh set of his jaw, Harry presumed that the smell inside the shop was rather overwhelming. Of course it would be, Harry thought, with so many different kinds of magic around. The interior of the shop had a lot of patterns but also a vast amount of what Harry could only call magical splatter, traces of magic layering over and around the patterns.

"I remember your parents; I was wondering if you would come by, seeing as you've been missing for so long," a whispery voice said from behind Harry. He jumped, twisting around with his magic held at the ready, only to find a strange old man with silver magic that seemed to dislike his body, seeing as it stretched across half the room in glowing tendrils.

"Y-you do?" Harry asked, stepping back.

"Mahogany, eleven inches, excellent for transfiguration for your father, Mr. Potter. Willow, ten and a quarter inches, swishy; a nice wand for charm work for your mother. And who might this be?" the old man, who Harry could only presume to be Ollivander, said while turning to Tom.

"Hello, my name is Tom Riddle," Tom said, "and _he_ is my cousin, Harry Riddle."

"Ah, of course," Ollivander said with a blustery sigh. "Far be it for me to put you in danger, Mr. Riddle." With a casual flick of his wand, a tendril of silver magic raced over to a desk and back, hovering around Harry and making the most peculiar of movements. A second flick caused the process to repeat with Tom, whose magic hummed in agitation.

"It's a tape measure," Tom whispered to Harry, eyes fixed on the retreating figure of Ollivander.

Ollivander pulled out something from the back shelves before returning to them, looking them over with curiosity. He took out something that shone silver in his hands and passed it to Tom. "Give it a swish," Ollivander said, and Tom obeyed.

Harry couldn't believe his eyes. A strand of magic – _blue magic –_ was moving into the silver wand and…twisting. Something wasn't right. Tom's magic lashed in agitation and the blue inside the wand shivered and spewed out the other end in a huge mess. Almost without thinking, Harry raised a hand and stopped the blue magic before it could become yet another colorful splatter on the wall.

Everyone froze. Tom's magic hummed with panic, Ollivander's was trembling in shock, and Harry could only move his hand back towards him until the blue magic joined his magical system, since Tom and Harry had been able to use each other's magic for a few years now. It had been different once – Tom's was dark blue, while Harry's was green – but now it was the same. Harry didn't think anything of the action but Ollivander's choked gasp meant that it was far more significant than he had thought.

Ollivander's magic swirled around him, tendrils spreading to each corner of the store and weaving themselves in a complicated pattern that included so many shapes that Harry's eyes hurt looking at them. He did not use a wand.

* * *

Ollivander smelled like the sweet scent of forest leaves during autumn, decomposing, and tasted of dust. Tom had been wary of the way that the smell of leaves did not lessen with distance, but instead stayed there, overwhelming. Ollivander had recognized who Harry was from the very first second, but seemed like he would keep the secret. While not an ideal situation, Tom hoped that it would do for now.

When Tom had swished the wand in his hand like Ollivander had directed him, he knew that nothing good would happen. The wand had been wrong from the start, tugging on his magic in a way he had never felt before and twisting it until Tom felt himself quivering in agitation. When his magic had leapt free of the wand and Harry's hand had stretched out…Tom's heart had stopped.

When autumn leaves had overwhelmed any other magics that Tom could distantly sense…he panicked. The wand dropped from his fingers and he leapt at Harry, standing in front of him with his magic quivering. Ollivander was already dangerous because of his knowledge of Harry's real name. Knowledge of Harry's ability – something that they had decided to keep secret – made him even more dangerous, even discounting the way that his magic sealed the shop from outside influence.

"Stay away," Tom said, words almost slipping into a hiss.

Ollivander lifted his arms and placed his wand down with excruciating slowness on the messy work table behind him but Tom wasn't fooled. Ollivander had sealed his shop with nothing more than a twitch of his fingers.

"I am not your enemy."

Tom took a step forward. "Then what are you?"

"A friend."

"Why should we believe that?" Tom felt Harry's icy shield falter and fought the urge to sneeze as dust danced across his sense.

"I know what you are and I won't betray you." Ollivander took a few steps back. "It's been so long. I'm sorry if my reactions frightened you; I sealed my shop from prying eyes and ears for this conversation."

"What we are?" Harry asked, stepping out from behind Tom. Tom let him; looking into Ollivander's eyes, he was sure that he was telling the truth.

"I'm afraid that I'm not at liberty to say."

Tom scowled. "And who is holding you back?"

Ollivander sighed and sat down on the surface of his work desk, knocking down a few boxes to the floor. With a twitch of his fingers, the boxes righted themselves again on his desk in a more precarious position than they were in before they had fallen.

"A long time ago, I was tasked with being a watcher. So that is what I have done all these years; watching children come by and collect wands from me, differing in magical strength but overall, not what I was looking out for. I was a precaution, placed where I was just in case the worst were to occur. I cannot tell you more than that. Now, let me get you both your wands."

Ollivander flicked his wrist and a row of boxes floated in the air in front of Tom. "Try them one at a time. Don't swish them; just tell me if any of them feel right."

Tom raised his eyebrow but took out the wand from the first box. It looked ordinary; a carved stick of dark wood. But it wasn't right. He tried the second box, then the third and the fourth and down the whole row. Each time he would place down the last wand in the row, the boxes would close and zoom back to the huge shelves in the back of the shop, replaced with yet another row.

Several repetitions of this pattern later, a wand that Tom picked up felt different from the rest. It didn't look special or different. It was a dark gold color and polished smooth like the others. But holding it…Tom felt a sense of completeness.

"I don't know why I thought it would be any different," Ollivander said, standing up and walking over. "They almost always end up choosing holly."

"A holly wand?" Tom asked, looking up into Ollivander's silver eyes.

Ollivander nodded. "Holly and phoenix feather, 13 inches, unusual combination. The wand of a protector," he said, eyes flicking from Tom to Harry. "And for you, Mr. Potter, some special arrangements must be made."

"Special arrangements?" Harry asked, glowing green eyes staring at Ollivander with unusual intensity.

"Yes. Appearances have to be kept. It wouldn't do for anyone to ever find out about what you are." Ollivander flicked his wrist and a few dusty boxes zoomed over to hover in front of Harry. "Pick whichever one feels the most right. It doesn't matter much but still, picking one that will cooperate with you would be best."

Tom watched as Harry hovered his hand over the first box before pausing, with a contemplative expression on his face. A breath later his hand was opening the fourth box in a row, a shower of dust falling to the ground from the lid. Inside was a wand of lighter gold than Tom's own. When Harry picked it up, his eyes closed and he smiled. "Yes, this one will be nice."

Ollivander smiled. "Linden wood, no core. It will be hard for you in the beginning, to pretend, so I suggest watching Tom closely and mimicking the way his magic moves."

Tom's eyes widened. Ollivander removed the other boxes and gave a sigh. "Free of charge. You may go, but I advise you both to keep your talents secret."

They needed more information than that. "Surely you can tell us something!" Tom said. All this talk of secrets… they had been planning to do that from the very start but the serious way that Ollivander was treating the situation made Tom think that there was more here than Harry and Tom could have dreamed. A group of people who placed Ollivander in an important position, checking children to see if any of them were exhibiting the same talents that Harry possessed. He also had knowledge that Tom had his own strange talent, although Tom thought that his control over his face had been almost impeccable. How would he have known?

"Goodbye," Ollivander said, flicking his wrist. An invisible force pushed Tom and Harry to the door and at once, the smells of the magic outside began invading Tom's senses again.

"Will you ever tell us?" Harry asked as they both were pushed out of the door. Ollivander's face was solemn as he mouthed words under his breath. Despite the distance between them, Tom could hear what he had said.

"I will see you later, little Weaver."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _AN: The cinema they walked by on their way to The Leaky Cauldron existed. It was called the Cameo Revudenews in that time period. I also researched the word etymology for 'kid' and apparently it was officially accepted as the informal word for 'child' in 1850. Wizards are still probably out of the loop, however ;D_
> 
> _Linden wood, according to internet sources (so accurate lol) can mean "seeing beyond outer appearances" so I thought that could symbolize Harry's sight._
> 
> _Also...finally I'm getting to the meat of the story! The original conception that led to this being written at all! Despite my somewhat ridiculous sticking to canon, MW is really a bit AU. I promise that you'll enjoy it, though! :)_
> 
> _Sorry that I've been taking over a month for each chapter but RL has been rather demanding. But thank you, all of you, for reviewing and favoriting and following this story. It really makes my day ;D As always, if you want to stay updated on the progress of this story, head over to my Tumblr blog, bleubirdsong!_


	16. Clothing of Serpent, Silvertongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Candy, culture, and the long-awaited train ride.

**August 6, 1938**

Harry was of the firm opinion that Diagon Alley was the best place in the whole entire universe. If he had his way, he would spend all of his time there exploring. However, their Monday expedition the day after Dumbledore’s visit had caused some unfavourable repercussions for missing “muggle” school and they were forced to wait almost two weeks before they were let free. Harry could still smell the cleaning materials that he had used during his punishment.

They were so close! Harry felt that if he were able, he would float off the ground from the sheer happiness that was filling him. Tom’s magic at his side showed that he was just as excited, although he persisted trying to act like an adult with his impeccable clothing, smooth stride, and blank mien.

Harry wondered when Tom would notice that Harry had untucked his shirt and messed up his hair in the back.

They walked into the Leaky Cauldron, Harry sighing in relief. At his side, Tom shivered in discomfort.

“Sorry,” Harry said, throwing up a blanket of magic around Tom again. “Forgot.”

“Sure you did,” Tom spat. Harry could almost imagine him bristling like one of those cats that hung around the orphanage. Although Tom didn’t want to admit it, Harry knew that he disliked how weak he was without Harry’s support.

Harry patted Tom on the head, grinning. “Kit’s having a bad day?”

“Oh stuff it,” Tom said, looking away and speeding toward the entrance to Diagon Alley. Harry huffed and raced after him, ducking a few exposed arms and avoiding a few chairs with a sense of satisfaction. After the wonder of Diagon Alley and being able to see, it had been difficult to get used to not seeing anything except for Tom.

A few speedy taps from Tom’s magic-infused fist and the magic of the doorway was activated, swirling as it pulled the bricks apart. Then Harry saw Diagon Alley again and almost wanted to cry from how lovely it was.

“Where do we go first?” Tom asked, eyes scanning the street and magic flickering with excitement.

“Oh, can we get some candy?” Harry said, giving in to the urge to jump up and down. “I remember a sweetshop! And Tom, _magical candy._ Don’t tell me you’re not excited!”

Tom covered his face with a hand, sighing. “Just because we finally received a second pouch from the bird express doesn’t mean we can spend it all on candy.”

“We already bought everything else we need with only one pouch. Imagine how much candy we can buy with enough money to get both of our school supplies!”

“Bought,” Tom said with a smirk. “Yeah, bought… But we’re not spending all of it, okay? I might be interested in candy-“

“Don’t lie, you’re just as bad as I am,” Harry accused with a grin, walking away from the entrance.

“Are you calling me a liar, Dove? I’m hurt!” Tom said, pantomiming being stabbed with a knife and collapsing to his knees.

Harry raised his eyebrows at Tom’s dramatic display, walking over and grabbing him by the arm. “Come on, Mister Dramatic, the candy awaits!”

“You’re just as bad,” Tom said as they wove through the crowds, looking for any sign of a sweetshop. “Oh, here’s the one I remember seeing last time, Madam Fancourt’s Confectionary Delights.”

Harry eyed the glowing café, display window covered in so much magic it was like looking at a miniature sun. “We’re going here.” Harry grabbed onto Tom’s sleeve, heading toward the door of the shop through the crowd, biting back a grin at the swears and hurried apologies behind him as Tom found himself not fitting into the spaces that Harry had slipped through seconds before. There were certain advantages to being smaller, Harry thought as they finally stepped through the door of the sweetshop.

It smelled heavenly.

The café was filled with rows and rows of shelves bearing glowing candies of rainbow colors and that was all that Harry wanted to care about at that moment. An hour later, Harry wandered over to some tables in the back in a daze, mind spinning with anticipation about Chocolate Frogs, Ice Mice, Pepper Imps, Jelly Slugs, Chocoballs…

Tom returned from the counter, arms full of various sweets which he dumped on the table in front of them. “So,” Tom asked with mock seriousness, staring into Harry’s eyes. “Which shall we try first?”

Harry picked up a small blue package and began to open it. Tom picked up a similar package and unwrapped it. The candy glowed with blue and white and was shaped much like the mice it was named for. Harry and Tom’s eyes met and they both took a bite of the Ice Mice at the same time.

They tasted rather like wine gums. Harry was about to say so when his teeth clattered and squeaked, his jaw moving almost without his control.

“What is-,“ Tom began to say before his teeth chattered and a round of peeps sounded, cutting off his speech.

“I don’t-,” Harry began only for his teeth to squeak several times in succession before he felt the magic release his jaw. “That was so funny!” Harry said, looking in wonder at the rest of the Ice Mouse in his hand.

Tom raised an eyebrow and squeaked a dramatic finale, increasing in intensity and reminding Harry of the way Tom’s little speeches grew in passion when he was excited about something.

“That’s not fair!” Harry said. “Yours was so much cooler!”

“I am just that awesome,” Tom said with a grin, finishing the rest of his Ice Mouse and reaching for another sweet.

They snacked on sweets for the better part of an hour, sampling them at leisure. On a few occasions, Harry attempted to manipulate the magic of the sweets, with rather frightening results. The Pepper Imps ended up catching fire before they could be eaten and the Acid Pops made very effective explosions. When Harry began messing around with Chocolate Frogs…Harry knew that there was no way that the situation would end well but he would not be stopped.

“Kit, isn’t this amazing?” Harry asked, watching the Chocolate Frog hop around in front of him.

Tom waved his hand in a dismissive manner. “The other sweets were much more interesting. This only pretends to be a real-aiii!” Tom shrieked as the Chocolate Frog jumped onto his face. Tom stood up from his chair with a violent move and leapt backwards, swatting at his face.

“I like it,” Harry said, grinning as Tom’s magic shivered in horror. “We should keep it as a pet. It has character.” He stood up and plucked the frog off Tom’s face, looking at it with interest as the magic began winding down. Perhaps he could extend it…a twitch of his fingers and the shape for time was wound again.

Tom gave him a horrified look. “No,” he said, grabbing the frog out of Harry’s hand and biting off its head before eating the rest.

Harry watched with wide eyes as Tom suddenly turned green. “Dove…did you…do something?”

“I might have extended the time the magic worked…”

Tom gave another shriek before heaving, shooting Harry a betrayed look. “Undo it!”

Harry bit his lip and squinted, trying to look through the magic of Tom’s stomach. To his dismay, the woven gold and green strands of magic were very dense and the only thing that showed through the netting were flashes of blue magic.

“Tom, I can’t see it. You’ll uh, have to wait…” Harry trailed off, giving a sheepish smile and messing with his hair. Tom’s eyes promised murder.

After a few minutes of dry heaving and Harry’s rather insincere apologies, they finally left the café. To Harry’s surprise, Tom grabbed the Chocolate Frog cards they’d collected, magic twisting in embarrassment.

“Kit, why did you…”

“It has facts on it, okay?”

“…Whatever you say, Kit.”

* * *

 

Diagon Alley had so many things that clamoured for Tom’s attention that he was surprised that he hadn’t yet gone mad from the overwhelming stimuli. He found himself watching and cataloguing everything he saw and smelled, on occasion murmuring into Harry’s ear when he saw something of particular note.

The street curved before them, the stores on both sides increasing in height and danger, tilting in various directions. Tom surmised that the only thing that was keeping them up was magic, if the intensity of the magic he was smelling from the buildings was any indication. He examined a tall building whose windows were located in a haphazard arrangement, one window even appearing as if it was stuck between two floors. His eyes flitted to the one next to it and he hummed as he read the sign.

“Dove, we’re going to buy clothes.”

Harry pouted. “Why clothes? We can just nick some later.”

“We need clothes that fit better,” Tom said, tugging on Harry’s oversize shirt for emphasis. “We’ll be going to a new place and I want to make a decent impression.”

“Fine,” Harry said as they walked into the store. The store was dim, the only light streaming in through a dirty window. Despite the sombre lighting, the store was decorated in bright colours inside and contained numerous racks of clothes both muggle and wizard.

Tom stepped up to a rack and began shuffling through it, eyeing the size of a wizard “tunic” patterned in green and purple cats.

“I like it,” Harry said, leaning closer. “The pattern looks really nice.”

Tom froze, turning to look at Harry with wide eyes. “Nice?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Dark blue and silver look nice together and the spirals of magic on it look really fun.”

Tom buried his head in the clothing rack, giving a heavy sigh. “It appears I will have to continue picking out your clothes for you lest you come out looking like you’ve joined the circus.”

“Need any help?” a voice sounded from behind Tom. He jerked, turning to look at a young saleswoman with heated cheeks.

“Yes,” Harry said. “Tom believes that I have horrible taste. He’s wrong, though, obviously.”

The saleswoman raised an eyebrow and laughed. “Of course. Come here…”

The saleswoman proceeded to drag Harry and a reluctant Tom around the store, cheerfully agreeing with Harry’s tastes. After a bit too many silences following her comments on the colour combinations, the saleswoman looked sideways at Harry.

“Pardon my asking, but are you colour-blind?”

“Ah, yes, I am,” Harry stuttered. Tom fought the urge to slap his hand against his forehead. So obvious…

“Well, you’re lucky! You look to be muggleborns?”

Tom gave a nod, raising an eyebrow at the cheerful lady.

“You should be glad you can’t see colour. Some of those things we stock over there,” she said, motioning toward the ‘muggle’ section, “are terrible. I’ll let you in on a trade secret. Those uppity purebloods can’t recognize muggle fashion even if their high and fancy blood would be able to tolerate it around their person. It’s pretty much an agreement between all muggleborns in clothing stores ever to sell them the silliest things.”

The saleswoman picked up a strange outfit that appeared to be all one piece, covered in orange and black stripes. “We market this as party wear.” Picking up a long, green skirt, she said, “This is the highest fashion for business wear for men, of course.”

Tom wanted to scoff at the petty vengefulness of the matter but Harry clapped, delighted. “That sounds hilarious! Do people actually buy them?”

“Yes,” the saleswoman said with a smug grin. “They do.”

“Why do muggleborns do this? What is the cause for this ‘revenge?'” Tom said, masking his distaste with a polite smile.

The saleswoman’s expression fell. “Oh, you poor dears. You don’t know. It’s because those of us whose parents are muggles – nonmagicals – are considered to be of a lesser class. We don’t have generations of inbreeding to qualify us,” she spat with a frown.

“We’ll take these,” Harry said, collecting a few of the clothing items they’d chosen earlier. “Thank you for the help.”

“Nothing I wouldn’t do for a fellow mudblood,” the saleswoman said, mouth twisting into a resolute grimace.

* * *

 

**September 1, 1938**

Harry and Tom had been slipping away into Diagon Alley as often as they could over the past few weeks, intent on discovering its wonders and acclimatizing to wizarding culture. Following the conversation with the muggleborn at the clothing store, Tom had decided that they needed to investigate the details so that they would not be caught unaware or ignorant upon their first meetings with their future classmates.

Harry and Tom had begun, for all intents and purposes, living in bookstores. The remains of their money pouches were scant and Tom wanted to save them for small purchases that might become necessary in the future, if they were to discover something they needed that wasn’t officially on the supply list. Although Tom didn’t say it aloud, Harry also knew that Tom was saving some of the money for bribes. Tom thought he was being subtle but his obsessive rearranging of the ‘nonessential’ emergency coins into little stacks spoke for him.

Although Tom insisted on rotating bookstores every few times they arrived so that they could get a wider spread of books (and to avoid making it obvious that they were using the stores as libraries), they nevertheless spent most of their time in Flourish and Blotts, as it had the largest stock. It had at least twice as many books as its nearest competitor. To Harry’s dismay, it was also better protected from their twitching fingers. Swathes of intricate magic littered the shelves and floated over the books, suspended like balloons attached with gossamer magical thread. Despite the delicate appearance, Harry’s inexperienced eye understood that the magic was not to be trifled with so easily.

Harry’s fingers twirled deep in his pocket, knotting a stray thread. Tom was flipping through a dozen books at lightning speed, hoping to absorb even a tiny bit more information. It was nine in the morning and Kings Cross was a rather long walk away, though not as long as their walk to Diagon Alley was.

“Hurry up,” Harry said, biting his lip. The chaotic dancing of their magic wasn’t helping his anxiety. “It would be terrible to miss the train!”

“We won’t miss it,” Tom said without looking away from his book. He flipped through it for a few seconds before huffing and throwing it down on the table.

“Are you satisfied that we know enough?”

Tom turned and sighed. “Hopefully.”

They walked out of Flourish and Blotts and sped down the street toward the Leaky Cauldron. The street was fairly empty this early in the morning, the buildings standing unobstructed from Harry’s view. They walked quickly through the Leaky Cauldron and slipped out into London proper.

In contrast, it was a lot louder and smellier. The stink of exhaust and manure invaded Harry’s nose and the clatter of horseshoes and mechanical bits made Harry hiss in discomfort. He gripped Tom’s sleeve tighter. He was going to go to Hogwarts soon, where he could see again. Just a little bit more of the smelly Muggle world and he would be free.

Tom pulled Harry through the crowds, around hawking newspaper boys spouting terror headlines about Germany and tarp-covered carriages. One memorable moment, Tom cursed in Parseltongue and yanked Harry across the road right in front of several growling automobiles. After they managed to cross the road unharmed, Harry dug his feet into the ground until Tom turned around.

“We’re not _that_ late. Slow down before you kill us!”

“I’m sorry if I’m a little too worried that we make it to King’s Cross, which holds our ticket out of this depraved slum,” Tom said with a scowl.

Harry reached out and yanked at Tom’s magic. “I’m serious. I was worried earlier but at the rate you’re taking us we might just end up in a mortuary.”

“ _Don’t do that.”_ Tom’s magic shook.

“I won’t do it if you actually listen to me.”

“Fine.” Tom grabbed Harry’s sleeve and began ploughing through the crowds, albeit at a slower pace. Harry sighed but allowed Tom his small revenge. Tom hated it whenever Harry messed with his magic but sometimes, he knew, it was the only way that Harry could get his attention.

The sun finally rose over the tops of the buildings enough to start to burn at the skin on Harry’s face. Harry closed his eyes and let himself follow Tom’s lead completely, feeling like a small ship tossed around in an impersonal sea. Small scents such as perfume or flowers danced by for a second at a time.

“Hey Kit… what do you think everyone else back at the orphanage will think? Us going to some fancy private school?”

“It doesn’t matter. When we come back,” Tom said, magic expanding around him in a halo, “we’ll be strong enough to deal with anything that comes at us.”

* * *

 

King’s Cross had so many people Tom felt almost nauseated. The clear majority were Muggles but even then, the primal stink of sweat mixed with artificial perfume was enough to send Tom’s senses a bit haywire. He had managed to get them to King’s Cross on time, but he was unsure if they could find the appropriate platform before the train left.

What was it that Dumbledore had said? An illusion… a barrier between platforms nine and ten. Tom scanned the mass of people around him for the aforementioned barrier. To his dismay, people towered over his head, limiting his vision to brief flashes of his surroundings as they rushed by. Above the heads of the masses hung a cloud of steam, recently escaped from a nearby locomotive. In the middle of the manmade fog, Tom could spot a few signs. Telegraph office, cloak room... not what they needed. He headed in that direction anyway. If the numbers of the platforms near him were any indicator, his chosen direction was promising.

Harry jerked. “Tom, I saw something ahead of us.”

Tom focused his eyes past the dissipating steam, noticing a gap in the crowd through which he could see a girl with an owl cage. She was doing her best to balance it on top of a large trolley, although did not appear to be having much success. Definitely a witch, he thought, although running an eye over her parents didn’t reveal anything incriminating. Tom did a ninety-degree turn in her direction, Harry quivering with excitement at his side.

“ _We’re almost there, Kit! Can you believe it?”_

Anticipation licked at Tom’s insides. They were so close. They had time – the clocks said that it was ten thirty – and already they could spot evidence of magic. They were almost at the train. And after the train…they would be at Hogwarts, where the hum of power that surrounded Tom every day could be directed and woven in more advanced ways than he and Harry had ever been able to come up with. It would be a refuge where they wouldn’t be the only magical children anymore. Tom doubted that it would be all roses because humans were inherently flawed, magical or not, but in the very least knowledge of magic that he could use in the open would allow him to prevail where Muggle, _physical_ strength would not.

“ _Yes, Dove. I can believe it.”_

Tom spotted platform nine and platform ten near-instantly, the two signs appearing almost superimposed upon each other. He looked over the pillars on the side of the platform, counting them from both ends. Finally, one pillar was left right in the middle of the platforms. The girl with the owl cage that he had seen earlier grabbed her parent’s hands and together, all three of them raced at the barrier, melting through it as if their bodies were suddenly overcome with the urge not to exist.

Harry let go of Tom and jogged up to the barrier, bouncing on his toes. “Come on, Tom, move faster!”

Tom rolled his eyes and walked up next to him. He looked at Harry, whose eyes were like bright green suns, and felt himself relax. Harry took his hand and together as one, they ran at the barrier. Brick rushed forward. Small cracks grew in size and the scent of daffodils rushed into Tom’s nose. Then, sensory chaos as biting smells assaulted Tom’s nose. He closed his eyes and tried not to breathe. Next to him, Harry let go of his hand and then the sharp scent of ice and pine muted everything.

“Better?” Harry asked.

“Better.” Tom opened his eyes. There were witches and wizards everywhere, wearing a bright rainbow of colours that were nothing like the dull browns and greys that Tom had just seen in Muggle London. Unlike Diagon Alley, the few adult witches and wizards were outnumbered by a whole army of children. The older teenagers stood in large groups, talking, while the youngest children seemed to be doing their hardest to escape their parents in a bid to sneak away to Hogwarts.

“Do you think that we should get our trunks unshrunk now?” Harry asked, pulling two tiny trunks out of his pockets. Tom bit back a laugh at the white string stuck on one of the trunks, evidence that Harry was reverting back to his old habits of playing with string while nervous.

“Yes, good idea. We don’t know how benevolent the older students are. Come on, do your thing.”

Harry nodded and walked away, stopping in front of random adult witches and wizards, showing their shrunken trunks and no doubt spilling a sob story about how they forgot to ask their parents to unshrink their trunks before they left. Tom gave a fond smile but then stared at the ground, feeling an unusual level of anxiety rise within him. They had never decided upon how to approach the subject of Harry’s not-quite-blindness in the Wizarding World. It had to be a secret, as Ollivander had told them, but would anyone believe that Harry was completely blind? What kind of teaching arrangements would be done to compensate? Perhaps it would be most beneficial to pretend Harry could still see to some extent, that he was visually impaired enough to have trouble seeing the board but such that could not be fixed with glasses? The teachers would likely be more amenable to placing them together in that event as well, especially if Tom fed them stories about their Muggle schooling together.

Harry walked back to Tom, lugging both of their trunks. “It was really easy, as usual. What are you thinking about?”

“What to do about your situation,” Tom said as he took his trunk from Harry and began pulling it towards the scarlet steam engine. A conductor took both of their tickets and they dragged their trunks aboard.

The steam engine was still empty. Tom surmised that most of the students were still giving their last goodbyes to their family and siblings. Tom turned into the first empty compartment that he found and closed the door behind Harry. With a wave of his hand, Tom levitated his trunk onto the overhead shelf as Harry did the same to his. Harry collapsed next to the window, throwing a hand over his forehead and giving a great sigh. Tom sat down across from him, running a hand through his hair to fix it and giving a casual wave of his hand to remove the creases from his shirt.

“I was thinking that you pretend to have really bad vision; you can’t see the board and it can’t be fixed with glasses, but well enough that you can recognize people,” Tom said

“That works. I’m just so happy that we’re here,” Harry mumbled, yawning into his hand. “We’re finally here but my feet are so tired that I want to sleep more than anything. We can figure out the details later.”

Tom nodded in assent. “Can’t sleep yet, though. It’s too dangerous while we don’t know anyone. Speaking of dangerous, we should probably get out of these Muggle clothes.”

Harry propped up his feet on Tom’s lap. “I don’t want to get up. Get the robes, please.”

Tom slid out from under Harry’s feet with a grimace. He knew exactly where those shoes had been and even if he was wearing mere Muggle clothes, he didn’t want to be in any way acquainted with the muddy dregs of London. “I think that you, dearest Dove, should get the robes. Have you forgotten who has the money pouches?” Tom gave Harry his most charming and winning smile.

Harry’s hand slid off his face as he stared at Tom in betrayal. Tom smirked in satisfaction as Harry launched off his seat with a huff and began levitating the trunks down, opening them without touching a single one with his hands. Instead of placing them on the floor, Harry kept them two feet off the floor. Show-off, Tom thought. They had practiced at home and Tom could only manage lifting one of them.

“Tom, you have so many books in here I can’t-“

The door to their apartment began to slide open.

Harry jumped and his control over his magic slipped, allowing Tom’s trunk to fall right into Tom’s legs. Tom’s eyes bulged and he fought himself to keep any noises of pain inside.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Harry cried, pulling the trunk off Tom’s legs.

There was a giggle from the doorway. A girl with curled and pinned black hair and glasses leaned against the doorframe, shaking with suppressed laughter.

“Something funny?” Tom wheezed out, summoning his most menacing glare and hoping that the forming tears in his eyes wouldn’t detract from its intensity.

“Yes,” the girl giggled again before turning serious. “Are you okay? I’m Minerva, Minerva of House McGonagall. Second year.”

“Just peachy,” Tom said, giving Harry a sharp look.

Minerva stepped inside their compartment, looking them over with unhidden curiosity. “Are you first-years?”

“Yes,” Harry said, placing the trunk on the ground and running his hand through his hair. “Is it obvious?”

“No, not really,” Minerva assured Harry, running her eyes down their ragged apparel.

“Ah, good. It’s nice to meet you, Minerva. I’m Harry Riddle.” Harry smiled and stuck out his hand. Minerva shook it before turning to Tom.

“I’m Tom Riddle. His cousin,” Tom said with an incline of his head. He shook Minerva’s hand and sighed. “Apologies for that terrible first impression. We could have met under better conditions.”

“Ah, it’s fine. If you want, I’ll give you a second chance later,” Minerva said, waving it off before heading to the door. “Anyway, I was just checking to see if this compartment was open. I’ll see you later – you should definitely try to get into Gryffindor!”

After Minerva slid the door shut, Tom slammed his face into his palms and gave a heaving sigh. “ _That was a disaster. She smelled like gingerbread cookies. Colour?”_

 _“A dark orange. I don’t think it went that badly,”_ Harry said, pulling out Tom’s robe and handing it over with a sheepish look.

Tom took it and stood up, slipping on the robe over his white shirt and buttoning it shut at the top. “ _It could have been better. Next time someone comes in, we should be prepared. Now, I don’t think we should be walking around and going into people’s compartments. We are younger than them and who knows what kinds of people the other students are.”_

 _“Where’s your sense of adventure, Kit?”_ Harry said, throwing his arms skyward. “ _We should instead definitely go exploring. Meeting new people – I’m sorry,_ allies – _can only be beneficial to do as early as possible. The lay of the land and all that.”_

Tom stared at the fabric of his robes, deep in thought. While they would lose their home-ground advantage, it would be a good idea to make connections before they were divided by the mysterious Sorting. _“Put on your robes, then.”_

Harry grumbled but began putting his robes on. Tom ran his fingers over his wand in his pocket, thoughtful. Maybe they should figure out how to do a spell or two for defence first. They had mastered quite a few things during their childhood in the orphanage but none of it was something that they could summon on the spot. Most of their magic required an intense amount of concentration to accomplish except for the most minor of things, such as basic levitation (which the lifting of two trunks was _not_ ).

“ _You did raise some good points. If anything, levitate them – you can no doubt manage that – or try to levitate their wands right out of their hands. Let’s go.”_

Tom turned to leave when Harry shouted, “ _Wait!”_

“What?” Tom asked, half-turning.

“ _We forgot to put up security,”_ Harry said, hand hovering over his trunk. “ _Do yours and I’ll do mine.”_

Tom chided himself under his breath as he wove magic over his trunk. To forget something so basic was unlike him. He was too anxious about going to Hogwarts if he was slipping and forgetting such important things such as the _security of their possessions._

Finished, Tom left the compartment with Harry following behind.

“Where to first?” Harry asked, looking down the corridor.

“Does it matter? I’m sure we’ll get where we need to go,” Tom said before stepping forward.

* * *

 

Avery leaned forward, hands on his knees. “What if one of us doesn’t get into Slytherin?”

Malfoy sighed, hand reaching up to his hair as if to ruffle it before jerking down. “Stop your speculations, Avery, I shan’t think they would do any good.” He slipped into a slump before jerking upright.

Lenus Nott rolled his eyes. Avery and Malfoy hadn’t changed in the slightest. Here they were, finally old enough to go to Hogwarts and Avery was still an airhead and Malfoy hadn’t yet learned to keep that Malfoy stick up his ass in place for extended periods of time. At least Mulciber and Rosier were behaving with comportment. They had to put on a strong showing for the other purebloods; it wouldn’t do to break character yet.

“But really, Abraxas!” Avery whined. Lenus huffed in irritation, slapping Avery upside the head.

“No first names! It’s not that difficult, Avery.”

“Of course it’s difficult,” Avery said, glaring at Lenus with narrowed eyes as he ran his hand through his bright yellow hair.

“Don’t be a baby,” Mulciber said, eyes fixed upon the game of Exploding Snap he was playing with Rosier. Avery’s mouth twisted and Lenus watched in tired irritation how Mulciber almost fell off the seat from a well-placed kick.

Avery sniffed as he drew his leg back. “You’re one to talk. Anyway, can I join?”

“Next game,” Rosier said, leaning down to look at the mess of cards in front of him. Lenus had to hold back a smile as the cards blew up in his face. Rosier was always a bit slow.

There was a knock at the door. Lenus watched from his spot by the window as Malfoy straightened and called, “Come in!” with a tone that screamed “pureblood heir.” Lenus was somewhat impressed; for all Malfoy had difficulty keeping his mask on for extended periods of time, he was a master at applying it for short occasions.

The door slid open, a tall boy with dark hair and grey eyes standing with confidence, dressed in immaculate Hogwarts robes. A shorter boy stood behind him with unnerving green eyes that flicked between everyone in half a second. The tall boy stepped forward, extending his hand toward Malfoy. “Tom of House Riddle. May my cousin and I sit here?”

Lenus raised an eyebrow in disbelief. A boy of questionable heritage—he was definitely no pureblood with that surname—introducing himself in the wizarding way? It wasn’t every day you heard of someone like that. Most mudbloods vehemently rejected wizarding culture to the point that most pureblood wizards found it more pleasant to ignore their existence. But these two… Lenus watched as Malfoy stood there for a few seconds, thinking it over, before shaking Riddle’s hand.

“A pleasure,” Malfoy said, words falling from his lips in exaggerated slowness. “Abraxas of House Malfoy. Of course you may.” Malfoy gave a wave to the seats between Rosier and the door before turning to the shorter boy and holding out a hand.

“Harry of House Riddle,” the second Riddle said, shaking Malfoy’s hand for a moment, eyes darting around Malfoy’s face. His eyes never stayed in one place; they kept flashing from side to side like glowing green snitches. Both Riddles sat down where directed, a smile lurking on the taller Riddle’s face.

“Flavian of House Avery,” Avery said quickly. “Are you half-bloods?” His eyes peered over at the Riddles with undisguised curiosity. Lenus gave a mental sigh at how forward Avery was. If any one of them might not get Slytherin, it would be Avery.

The taller Riddle exchanged a look with the shorter before turning to Avery, a sharp smile on his face. “My parents died before they could tell me.”

Avery’s eyes grew wide and he lifted up his hands. “Oh, I’m sorry!” Lenus sucked in a breath, wanting to kick Avery for acting in such a casual manner. He was a pureblood heir, for Hecate’s sake! Lenus re-evaluated his estimation of the taller Riddle’s intelligence. That manner of dodging the question was quite Slytherin of him, reminding Lenus of the lessons his father had imparted upon him before he left for Hogwarts.

“It’s alright,” the taller Riddle said with a wave of his hand. “I presume you all are purebloods?”

“Lenus of House Nott,” Lenus said, shaking the taller Riddle’s hand. “We are.”

“Well met. And who might you be?” the taller Riddle asked, looking at Mulciber and Rosier.

Mulciber leaned past Rosier, rubbing soot from his face with a forlorn expression. “Augustus of House Mulciber. And he’s Dantanian of House Rosier.” Rosier didn’t even twitch as Mulciber introduced him, still focused on the spread of cards in front of him. Lenus decided it wasn’t worth it to protest against the lack of decorum; they were all useless. He would have to take what he could get.

Ever the socialite, Avery burst in with a question. “What houses do you think you’ll be in?”

The shorter Riddle—Lenus was going to have to refer to them by full name—answered. “Tom is a definite Slytherin. I’m not too sure about myself, though.”

“You’re a Slytherin too,” Tom Riddle said, waving his hand and leaning back. “How about all of you?”

Avery grinned, throwing arms around Malfoy and Lenus’s shoulders. “We’re all going to be Slytherin, no question about it. It’s a family tradition. However, _he_ ,” Avery pointed at Rosier, “is a Ravenclaw if I ever saw one.”

“Ravenclaw is a perfectly good house,” Mulciber said, looking up from his cards. “My mother was from Ravenclaw.”

“I never said it wasn’t,” Avery assured. Lenus had to agree; Slytherin was the greatest, but Ravenclaw was rather tolerable.

“How can you be so sure?” Lenus asked, looking carefully at Tom Riddle’s confident slouch.

“I have my reasons,” Tom Riddle said before turning to speak quietly in Harry Riddle’s ear, who smirked and closed his eyes, leaning back against the seat. Lenus raised his eyebrows before turning to talk to an excited Avery chattering on about some Quidditch player’s new team position. They were strange, but they could stay. Perhaps they’d even fit into Slytherin.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _AN: Introduced a large number of the main cast. Developing them took forever and I’m excited to write them. This story is primarily Harry and Tom’s point of view but I might throw in some of theirs. It’s funny how much some of them think they know. Pretty much everyone in my story is an unreliable narrator. Lenus Nott is such an arsehole, isn’t he? Every snotty Malfoy needs an equally snotty best friend._
> 
> _Apologies for the really long time between this update and that of the last! I honestly…didn’t mean for it to be 4.5 months. If any of you have been following me on my Tumblr, you’ll be aware that my life was pretty much a mess for quite a while (still is, actually). I think I’m getting back in the swing of things, however, so future updates will come out without such long delays. For all of you still sticking with me, thank you for your kind words and love! Thank you to lowonbattery, StrangeSoulmates, and my dearest Scarfy for help/nagging/inspiration and support! This chapter would be nowhere without you._


	17. Castle of Sage Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long-awaited Sorting.

**Chapter 17**

**September 1, 1938**

Harry felt the exact instant when the train began to decelerate. The faint vibrations from beneath his feet told of resistance, and momentum caused him to pitch forward enough to get a better view of the Exploding Snap game that Augustus and Dantanian still hadn't finished. Harry's fingers dug into Tom's arm, Tom humming under his breath in acknowledgement.

"I don't understand why you keep winning," Augustus complained. "You've been holding back on me all these years, Rosier, or what?"

Dantanian—should Harry refer to them by last name as everyone seemed to be so fond of doing?—gave a small smile, his peach-coloured magic twisting around in lazy spirals that reminded Harry of Tom's frequent, smug satisfaction. Dantanian was a strange one, Harry decided. Most people tended to have magic of one colour, maybe two, if the magic Harry had glimpsed at King's Cross had been any indication. Dantanian had lavender, peach, and red magic and unlike Harry and Tom's magic, it wasn't layered in the slightest. While Harry and Tom's blue magic was quite definitely hidden by strands of green and gold, Dantanian's was a chaotic mess that seemed to operate with little rhyme or reason. The only advantage, Harry thought, was that Dantanian's magic was so expressive that Harry could read his emotions without needing years of familiarity.

"We're almost at the station," Lenus said, polishing off the last of his delicious-smelling Pumpkin Pasty. Harry was quite jealous; Tom hadn't bought them a single thing.

Flavian began vibrating in his seat, his sunshine yellow magic curling in on itself. "I wonder how we're to be Sorted…I tried asking my father, you know, but he didn't tell me a single thing. Blasted traditions."

"Careful, Avery," Abraxas drawled, "or one might get the impression that you're as reverent of Wizarding tradition as a common Mudblood." Abraxas glanced in Harry's direction and Harry fought the urge to stiffen, instead taking support in the solidity of Tom's arm.

Flavian huffed, crossing his arms. "Abraxas, you know what I meant."

"We're guaranteed to be in Slytherin, the house renowned for cunning," Lenus said before grinning. "I don't know about you, though."

Next to Harry, Tom gave a low sigh that covered the slight whisper of Parseltongue. " _How many times can they conceivably redirect the topic toward this Sorting?"_

" _As many times as Avery makes his insecurities known. Could potentially occur forever,"_ Harry hissed back as he stood up.

Tom stood up as well. "I believe we will take our leave; we left our things back in another carriage. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Harry fought the urge to scoff at the formal tone, ending up with a slight grimace instead of his intended neutral facial expression. Tom's magic flickered and a strand of gold stroked across Harry's face in reprisal.

Abraxas inclined his head, as did Lenus. Flavian gave a cheery wave. "Hopefully we'll see you with us later!"

Harry followed Tom out the door, weaving through the sudden crowd of students that began to gravitate back to their compartments in anticipation for their upcoming arrival. The train was much slower now, vibrating beneath Harry's feet as the heavy machinery clanked together with the deceleration.

They reached their compartment a few minutes later, the trunks untouched and sentry magic pristine. Harry looked at Tom. "Do we lug these out?"

Tom looked down at the trunks with a contemplative mien. "I'm not sure. Give me a second," he said, sliding open their door and poking his head out. The train gave a last rumble before it slowed to a smooth stop. A few moments later, Tom ducked back inside, turning to Harry. "It looks like everyone is just leaving their things. Maybe there's a porter?"

"Guess so," Harry said, picking apart the sentry magic with his thumb and forefinger. The spell fell apart into meaningless coils, which Harry lifted and threw at Tom. The magic splashed against his front but reformed into the gold dynamic loops and spirals that littered wild around Tom's form. The second sentry spell, Harry picked apart and threw onto his arm, where his magic slipped back into his being as if it had never left.

The floor of the compartment buzzed as tens of feet began pounding down the hallway outside of their door. Harry checked the shield he held over Tom to dull his senses and pronounced it adequate with a nod of his head. "Let's go?"

Tom's magic spun in excited flurries. "We're finally here."

The walk out of the train could not have taken any longer than half an hour, but it felt like an eternity of slowly dragging seconds, passing by with reluctance as if straining to keep Harry and Tom away from their future. Tom's hands must have clenched into fists so many times that permanent indents would be worn into his palms, Harry thought with fondness. Tom liked to be in control and even such a minor lack was unforgivable in his impatience. Finally, they stepped out of the train into a growing throng of magic, buzzing with activity and spiralling emotions. It was like a flowering meadow, Harry thought, with splashes of extraordinary colour lighting up the otherwise dark and faded shades of magic.

"What does it smell like?" Harry whispered, loosening his hold on the shield. Tom shuddered before taking a deep, deep breath and holding it in with an intense expression on his face, as if sampling every single note of taste and smell possible.

"I can't even describe it, Dove," Tom said as Harry tightened the woven coils of the shield. "So many different scents, some pleasant, some disgusting all together in a huge mess. It's difficult to pick out any one flavour. What does it look like?"

"Like…like a fairy meadow from the stories. It's like I'm seeing flowers again."

"Good," Tom said with a sigh as Harry tangled his fingers in Tom's sleeve.

The crowd was abuzz with conversation, fading in and out of Harry's concentration. Snatches of voices—"…I heard he's handsome…"—and whispers—"…what house do you think you'll be in?"—danced upon the wind, which cut into Harry's cheeks with a surprising, refreshing chill. Just as Harry was about to turn to Tom and ask him what they were to do now, a voice cut through the air.

"Ladies and gentleman, welcome to Hogwarts! First years, move over to the path on the left. Upperclassmen, please make your way to the right. Four to a carriage, please!"

Harry searched for the source of the voice in the crowd, but couldn't see anyone. Tom pulled him along to the left, leaving him standing with a huge group of students, numbering definitely over a hundred; maybe twice that. A sea of coloured lights—for that was what they were, in this darkness—moved away until they were just pinpricks, near dots of light that shone an ethereal, beckoning silver.

"What's that, there?" Harry asked, motioning in the other students' direction. "Looks silver, but not human silver. The shapes are wrong, I think, and it doesn't look quite right."

Tom's breath caught in his throat, his magic flaring in surprise. His eyes darted down to Harry before fixing again upon the distant sight. "They're…horses that look like they are dead. Skeletal, with wings? And I can't see too many details, but there's something wrong with them…"

"Is it a magical animal?" Harry asked, forcing himself to look away. That silver magic looked too friendly, and—dare he say it—wrong. Unnatural.

"Likely." Tom was about to say something else before the same voice that directed them earlier cut in.

"Alright, first years! Follow me. Watch your step upon the path, please; the ground is uneven. We'll be taking an alternative route to Hogwarts; you'll see the castle in a minute."

Harry's vision sharpened as he noted something peculiar in front of him. It was magic, packed tightly into a furious ball, roiling inside as if fighting against invisible confines. It seemed free-floating; unlike most of the magic that Harry had seen, it was neither a spell nor a person. The voice came directly from it.

"My name is Jacob Filch and I am the caretaker of Hogwarts. Come along, come along; you don't want to be late to the feast."

Harry followed behind Tom as they moved forward onto the path. It felt rocky and springy, as if it was covered with some low-growing moss or grass. Harry watched Tom's feet as he navigated a specific stretch of the path with exaggerated motions and attempted to replicate Tom's footsteps as best as he could. He tripped up a little bit on a stretch of root, but otherwise exited the path unharmed. Behind him, Harry could hear a number of hisses and yelps as the rest of the students forgot to watch their step in their excitement. He grinned, tugging on Tom's sleeve. Tom's magic curled around his fingers in acknowledgement.

Harry stepped forward and gasped as they rounded what must have been a copse of trees. What else could have held away the intense brilliance of the sight before him?

It was a tapestry in three dimensions. A thin, yet intricate rainbow net was woven in a perfect sphere stretching far into the air and the woods on either side of the castle. The castle itself was a study in colour, with soaring, sky-scraping towers of burgundy, brown and gold. Some were blue, green, and netted with purple that glittered as if reflecting sunlight that Harry could not see. Tall mountains stood like eternal sentries, cradling the castle in protective arms. The body of the castle was predominantly pale grey and light blue, although Harry could see hints of red decorating the edges like latticework. The base of the castle was again blue, green and crystal purple, seeming to stretch deep into the ground itself.

Each of the patches of colour seeped into one cohesive whole, somehow managing to create smooth transitions despite the overwhelming differences in colour. Despite the chaos, Harry could tell that the all of the magic was interwoven in perfect symbiosis for a unified goal.

To teach, to grow, and to protect. It was in the very air that Harry was breathing in, the air that swept through the rainbow net protecting the whole valley only to be caught in his lungs.

Tom hissed next to him. Harry turned, only to see Tom's knees weaken. He grabbed Tom, worried. So much magic…it was excellent for him, but detrimental to Tom. Harry didn't delay; he hugged Tom and threw out a sheet of pure magic around them in a bubble, making it thicker than he had ever had to before. When Harry opened his eyes, he found that he could barely see any other magic through the dense layer of celadon and gold he'd erected.

Tom hugged Harry tighter for a moment before straightening and detaching his arms. He rubbed at his arms, his magic agitated. " _I can't. I can't go there."_

" _Yes, you can. I don't think anyone noticed your moment. I'll keep blocking until you think you can handle more. Is it…is it really that bad?"_

" _Yes,"_ Tom said, shaking his head. " _It's…nothing like what I had imagined. I can't describe it at all. It just hit me like a train."_

* * *

 

"Alright, everyone. Four to a boat. I recommend you don't horse around too much; we haven't fed the Giant Squid today!"

Tom wanted to destroy Mr. Cheery Jacob Filch. Sock him right in the noggin and see how well he fared when thrown into the lake with the giant monster squid.

His head was hurting a lot. A lot. Very much. A lot. Tom had never had a headache of this magnitude, but then again, he'd never been to Hogwarts. It was like getting hit by a freight train rocketing forward sixty kilometres an hour. He'd walked right into it.

He'd noticed the smell of curious magic back at the train station, and had felt it get stronger as they walked down the path. For some reason, he had made the utter lapse of failing to realize what smelling magic from such a distance through Harry's shield might mean. His range with normal magic was only twenty meters, without Harry's shield. He smelt this magic from a distance much farther away. Much farther. They'd gotten closer and when they'd rounded the bend, the full majesty of Hogwarts lighting up the sky before them with soaring lights and golden stone, Harry's shield had dropped as he stared open-mouthed at the castle.

It had to have been a sight for Harry, but that brief lapse in the shield…his nose, mouth, brain were invaded with a powerful and thick scent-taste-scent that was a poisonous, choking miasma.

Tom breathed in and out, revelling in the familiar wintery ice-and-pine that was Harry. It was almost like being back in London, where the only magic Tom could sense was Harry's. But it was still better than London, as the scent of flowers drifted past his senses. Preferable over London's grime and muck. Preferable over the orphanage.

Tom sat down in one of the boats in a daze, snapping out of his mental exhaustion long enough to help Harry into the unstable, tiny boat. Two unfamiliar students entered the boat with them as the horde of students distributed itself into random groups. After a few minutes of in-fighting that Tom could see from a distance, Mr. Filch grinned and called out, "Ahead we go!"

Tom only noticed that they'd started moving because of his sight, not because of any motion beneath him. The boats glided forward across the lake in unison, as if pulled by some steady, mechanical force across a frictionless surface. Harry's eyes were wide with excitement as he stared ahead of the boat. Night was falling, the summer sunlight slipping below the hills behind them. The absence of any warmth seemed to make Harry's eyes glow brighter.

Tom nudged Harry, and leaned closer until his mouth was right beside his ear. " _…Can you loosen your shield just a little bit? I want to know what Hogwarts tastes like."_

Harry nodded without tearing his gaze off the golden castle that was growing bigger by the second. Scents flooded into Tom's nose, deceptively weak. There were a million tastes just below Tom's awareness in this muted form, but four distinct tastes really stood out. Tom had a fondness for growing things and had gardened as a hobby for some time. He recognized those scent-taste-scents. Sage and grassy dandelion mixed, and a little fainter he could detect the subtle scents of thyme and an odd sweet and earthy scent he thought could be burdock. Four scents… could they be the magics of the Founders, left in the castle over a millennium despite them being long since gone?

Tom shook his head. He was being quite fanciful; in his contemplation, he'd completely missed the smooth arrival of the boats onto a pebbled shore. He climbed out after Harry, standing next to him among the throng of excited and nervous students. Mr. Filch climbed out of the last boat to run aground, pushing through the crowd and walking off into darkness. After a few seconds of hesitation, the crowd moved after him, speaking in quiet whispers.

" _What does it smell like, the castle?"_ Harry's low hiss was almost lost in the scrape of pebble against pebble and the soft swish of thick cloth.

Tom grabbed Harry's hand as they began to ascend narrow stairs with perilous speed, pushed ahead by unknown faces. There was no rail; Tom wondered what would be done if one of them fell off into the shadows? If one of them died? " _It smells like a garden,"_ Tom said after collecting his thoughts. " _Not a flower garden, but an herb garden. I can definitely pick out sage and dandelion, and perhaps thyme. There's also a smell I'm not very familiar with that I think might be burdock."_

" _Edible herbs. That's weird…you would think the Founders would be strong, powerful, and overwhelming, almost."_

Tom laughed under his breath. " _Even something subtle can be overwhelming, Dove."_

The stairs ended, the ground beneath their feet now marbled stone, worn so smooth that the flaming torches on the walls also danced along the ground. All two-hundred or so students congregated in a huge circle around Tom and Harry, with Mr. Filch disappearing behind a familiar figure dressed in lime green and purple robes.

"In a few moments, we'll be entering the Entrance Hall, from which we will make our way into the Great Hall. Before we can all adjourn to the delightful feast that awaits us, you will be sorted into one of four different houses: either Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, or Slytherin. Your house will act as your family, your actions reflecting on the house as a whole. You do well, you gain house points; you break any rules and your houses lose points. The house with the most points by the end of the year will win the House Cup, a great honour. However, it's encouraged that you make friends outside of your houses as well!" Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

Mr. Filch returned and tapped Professor Dumbledore upon the shoulder. Professor Dumbledore smiled. "The Sorting Ceremony will now begin!"

He turned and began walking along the corridor, Tom and Harry following behind, as well as the horde of other first-years. They walked through a ginormous hall, so tall that Tom couldn't detect the moment when the walls became the ceiling before stopping at a huge pair of wooden doors that inched open with a terrific groan. As the doors opened fully, Tom was treated to the sight of another immense hall. The ceiling was a starry sky, and candles floated above the heads of the students with nary a fear for dripping wax. Four large tables stretched most of the way down the room toward a perpendicular table that was raised on a slight dais. In front of the dais, a small three-legged stool held up the rattiest hat that Tom had ever seen.

Harry's hand sought Tom's, who gripped it firmly. " _This is it,"_ Harry breathed. " _This is the beginning."_

" _Yes, it is."_

* * *

 

There was so much magic that Harry did not know where to look. Should he focus on the ceiling, the complex and infinite spirals and weaves that the magic displayed? Should he look at the thousand and more of students, glowing a rainbow of colours that danced in the air above them like streamers from the sheer volume of their anticipation? Should he attempt to look at what looked to be a mere hat that blazed with the brilliance of a thousand suns?

Professor Dumbledore strode ahead of the throng, a study in elegance with magic of ivory and pale yellow, shot through with twists of pale, almost-white green. He strode up to the hat just as a man stood up from the centre place of honour on the high desk.

"Welcome, new students! Before we begin the Sorting Ceremony, I wish to remind all of you to stay out of the Forbidden Forest – it is named so for a reason! Thank you." The man sat down.

Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat. "When your name is called, come forth and sit on the stool. I will place the Sorting Hat on your head to determine the house you will be staying in."

Tom's mouth fell open in disbelief. "Is that the famed historical Sorting Ceremony? Is that it? A mangy old hat?"

Harry laughed, leaning in. " _It has so much magic it looks like a miniature sun. Calm down, Kit; you're so nervous it's hilarious. We're supposed to be acting cool and confident, remember?"_

"Don't call me that…"

"Flavian Avery!" Professor Dumbledore's voice rang across the hall, the background noise falling down to a low hum. Flavian strode forth, magic curling in discomfort. His stride did not betray his obvious mental agitation. He sat down on top of the stool, Professor Dumbledore plopping the hat onto his head. After about half a minute, the hat jerked and a voice broke the silence.

"Slytherin!"

The Sorting Ceremony began in earnest, then. Harry could hear a few people in the tables closest to them betting on the house to be called, whispering about family affiliations and comments such as "Doesn't he look like such a wimp? I'm betting Hufflepuff." First-years were called up with great speed, most of them needing less than fifteen seconds to have their house determined by the strange hat. A few outliers took up to a minute, but it seemed no time at all before Harry's fake name was called.

"Harry Riddle!"

Harry felt Tom squeeze his hands once before letting go, a whisper of Parseltongue reaching his ear. " _Remember, try for Slytherin…"_

The walk to the Sorting Hat was rather long, as the Great Hall was made big enough to impress. To Harry, however, it felt too short. He cautiously made his way up a few steps and sat down on the stool silhouetted by the brilliant magic of the hat. It was dropped on his head a moment later, slipping down his face.

A curious, floaty feeling entered Harry's head and a voice Harry had never heard before gasped in shock.

_This cannot be!_

"What?" Harry whispered into the cloth of the hat.

_This should never have happened. The safeguards…how?_

"What are you talking about?" Harry said, frowning.

_Oh Merlin. Boy, think your speech! I can't imagine what would happen if someone found out. Do you have a—yes, of course you do. Of course. It all went wrong at once, didn't it? A thousand years it lasted, but it had to break now, of all times._

_What are you talking about?_ Harry thought.

 _A horrible tragedy,_ the hat replied. In his head. _I guess I will have to sort you; at least someone's kept an attentive eye on the situation._

A talking hat. _Can you tell me about it? If it's something dangerous, I deserve to know._

_Telling you would do you little favours…oh, it looks like you've been warned already. Pretend that your vision problem means your vision fluctuates at an alarming rate that can't be matched by magical glasses. I'll inform Professor Dumbledore so he can inform the school nurse._

_Thank you?_ Harry thought. _You're really smart for a hat._

_I'm more than a hat, boy; surely you've seen that? In any case. Sorting. You'd made a fantastic Hufflepuff, as would your Sensor, if you didn't hold such loyalty exclusively for each other. Both quite brilliant; Ravenclaw would work…_

_Tom? He's a Sensor?_

_Yes._

_Why are you sorting us together? I thought-_

_It's because he's your Sensor. Gryffindor would be out of the question; even if you're quite predisposed to it, it's not a good fit for your Tom at all. It's down between Ravenclaw and Slytherin for you two. In one house, you'd be allowed to experiment with magic to your heart's desire, in the other, you'd learn to survive…_

_Slytherin, please!_

_Decided it already, have you? Unusual choice for one of your lot, in particular._

_Meaning what?_ Harry tried to convey a suspicious look using thought alone.

_Meaning nothing. I've spoken too much already; a side effect of no good conversation from the heads of most of these first-years. Gives me the tendency to ramble. Alright, so it'll be-_

"Slytherin!" the hat vibrated on Harry's head with the force of its shout. The hat was lifted off and Harry blinked as his eyes adjusted after such close exposure to the magic-dense hat. Harry couldn't see anyone; he had eyes only for Tom. The one with the magic of blue, pale green, and shimmering gold that was the twin of his own.

Gold curled in approval. Harry ducked his head a little bit and smiled as he headed to the table where all of the previous (familiar) Slytherin students went. He recognized the sunshine yellow and pink of Flavian's magic, and slipped into place beside him across from Abraxas and Lenus.

"Tom Riddle!"

Harry watched as Tom sat down on the stool, hat dropped over his face. Unlike with Harry, the hat only stayed on for five seconds before blurting out, "Slytherin!" Tom handed off the hat to Professor Dumbledore and strode over to the Slytherin table, sitting down on Harry's other side. He leant in, magic flickering with subtle agitation. " _Dove, why'd the hat tell me that he'd sorted me already and to ask you?"_

"Later," Harry breathed before turning to Flavian. "I guess there was no need for worry, huh?"

Flavian ducked his chin, pink magic spiralling in embarrassment. "I guess not. But wow, you're both in Slytherin!"

"Quite a surprise," Lenus said, turning to Abraxas and holding out his hand. Abraxas grumbled and deposited clinking coins into Lenus's hand.

"You were betting? On what?" Dantanian said, sitting down next to Abraxas. "I would've wanted to participate."

"On whether the Riddles would become Slytherins," Abraxas said. "I lost."

"Oh, how much?" Augustus asked, sliding closer from where he was chatting with one of the new Slytherin girls.

Lenus gave a smirk so wide that Harry could see it on his magic. He held out his hand over the table and uncurled his fingers.

"Oh, Malfoy, I didn't know you were a betting man," Flavian said, reaching out and touching the coins before looking up with an obvious grin. "What would your father say?"

"Three galleons," Tom whispered into Harry's ear. Harry's eyes widened. Three galleons was quite a significant sum. How rich were his new classmates?

"My father won't hear of this," Abraxas said, voice stiffening and back straightening.

Flavian patted Abraxas on the back. "It's alright, I won't tell." He looked up at the head table. "How long do you think it'll take to finish the sorting? It's been forever already."

"It'll be over in about ten minutes, I'd say," Tom said, looking at his nails.

Flavian stared at Tom before pushing the plate in front of him away with one finger and slumping to the table, arms over his head. "Why, oh Merlin why?" he cried.

Lenus leaned forward across the table and bopped Flavian on the head. "Get up, you disgrace!"

Flavian whined, shifting his arms until his head was more covered. "I came to school to escape my parent's policing, Lenus!"

Flavian yelped as Lenus's hand descended upon him again. "It's Nott to you in public!"

"Oh chill," Augustus said, slumping. His even royal purple magic twinkled in amusement, threads of ice-blue slipping out to create a dazzling display of movement. Harry's eyes widened as he tried to follow the movement of the dancing ice-blue magic as it slipped out of sight.

Something pinched his arm. Harry jerked as he came out of what he recognized to be a short trance. He looked at Tom with a sheepish expression. He had a tendency to get lost in dances of magic; after so long, he was safe from his own magic and that of Tom's, but he sometimes got lost when confronted with magic that he had never seen before.

Harry spent the next few minutes studious in his examination of his shield around Tom and his hands, unwilling to lapse again. Tom had explained his plans rather well; they were no better than Mudbloods, whatever their parentage might be, so they had to show that they deserved respect. From their trip in the train compartment, Tom had identified Lenus and Abraxas as the ones that were the most important to win over. It was better to be thought quiet than a fool with a penchant for staring off in random directions.

The last student was sorted into Hufflepuff as the headmaster stood up. Harry took the chance to look over his silver-orange-green magic, which was displaying an unusual level of cheerfulness that Harry had yet only seen in Flavian.

"Morgana's tits, he's ancient," Augustus said. "I know Father said that he was over 300 years old but I thought he was joking."

The headmaster cleared his throat before speaking. "Welcome, students new and old! We begin another great school year. Now that we've all been sorted, dinner awaits!" He snapped his fingers, a tendril of magic shooting down into the ground, and a few seconds later, the table in front of Harry whirled with chocolate-brown magic that moved in curious jagged shapes.

Tom started. He whispered into Harry's ear, " _It smells like warmth. Like a fireplace."_

" _Chocolate brown,"_ Harry breathed, a myriad of smells registering. He could smell meat, potatoes, and warm baked bread. He couldn't just pick out one scent; they saturated the air with promises of feasts and full meals every day. No more gruel, no more stealing candied peanuts from street peddlers. No more dandelion salad, picked as a chore in the nearby park and eaten bare without oil or salt. No more fighting with the Mrs. Cole who wanted to requisition Tom's garden for one good meal, as if anything would be left after feeding an overfull orphanage. Harry was at Hogwarts now, the place he'd been waiting for his whole life. The place that he'd heard in bedtime stories; the place that he'd told Tom about that formed his dreams.

Harry turned to Tom. "What's for dinner?"

* * *

 

Tom could swear that he'd tried every single thing on the table within reach. He wasn't prone to indulgence—even if given the rare chance—but seeing so much delicious food, piled so high on the plates that it looked in danger of falling…it took Tom a ridiculous amount of self-control to moderate his eating habits. The others around him were eating at a slow pace, with the exception of Avery, and did not seem to be overwhelmed by the quantity or quality. Tom instead took the smallest portions from everything, and tried his hardest to keep himself from rushing.

Next to him, Harry was methodically making his way through a generous helping of bangers and mash that Tom had piled onto his plate in earnest. The table conversation was limited; despite the impeccable manners everyone seemed to have ingrained, everyone's attention was fixed upon the food.

The icy scent of Harry's magic danced as a secondary flavour to whatever Tom put into his mouth. Just as Tom was finishing his plateful, a boy and a girl walked up to their section of the table. The girl stepped forward.

"My name is Alocasia Sykes and I am one of the fifth year prefects. This," she said, motioning to the boy, "is Arran Clyde. We'll show you to the Slytherin quarters."

"Follow us," Clyde said before turning and walking away.

There was a lot of scrambling as the new students stood up and fumbled with their robes. Tom pulled Harry along behind him as he pushed to get in the front of the group of fifty or so students. The prefects were talking.

"…in the dungeons. Lots of the other houses think we have it bad but they haven't seen our rooms. Everything's been done to make living down there pretty good. We get a lot of pureblood heirs, you see."

"Try not to get lost at this intersection…"

Tom stored their words away for perusal later; he was not going to let himself and Harry get lost. They walked along a long series of twists and turns, finally stopping as a group in front of an expanse of stone wall. It seemed unremarkable if not for the strong scent of sage coming from it.

"This is the location of the Slytherin dorms," Sykes said. "The password changes every fortnight and can be found on the noticeboard; the current one is _pineapple_ , a favourite of our Head of House, Professor Slughorn."

The section of wall changed, sliding into itself to reveal a dark passageway. Tom and Harry walked in along with the rest, congregating in the middle of a ginormous room. The ceiling of the room and one whole wall of the room were windows that opened onto dark water. Numerous torches and fireplaces were scattered all over the room, giving the whole room a warm and fiery cast. A variety of intricate tables, couches, and chairs were spread in small groups near each of the many fireplaces. In the centre of the room, a massive chandelier hung from the glass ceiling, a creation of crystal, iron, and minute candles. Two doorways, next to each other, were on the far side of the room.

Clyde spoke again. "This is the Slytherin Common Room. This is your home away from home; you are now in Slytherin house and are expected to uphold Slytherin ideals. Be cunning and wily; have ambition. You can come to any of the prefects for help settling in, but be aware that everything in Slytherin has a price, if not an immediate one."

Sykes gave a vicious smile before standing on her toes and calling out. "Professor Slughorn, we're here!"

A man of impressive girth walked forward, dressed in robes decorated with intricate embroidery. The prefects stood to the side as he assumed their place.

"I am Professor Slughorn and I am your Head of House. This means that you are all my ultimate responsibility. I expect behaviour from each of you befitting your house. Feel free to come to me for help at any time though; as a whole, Slytherin believes in a united front. Keep any disagreements and drama inside the walls of this room, not any farther. I will hold a private, individual chat with each of you; I like to get to know my students! The list of times will be distributed later. My office is near the Potions classroom, which is located two turns right, going back from the way you came."

Clyde stepped forward again and pointed to the two doorways. "Boys on the left, girls on the right. Off with you! Your trunks are already inside."

Professor Slughorn left and the prefects stood off to the side as the first-year students moved toward the doorways. Tom and Harry were one of the first few in the boys' doorways, walking down a set of steps until they were faced with a branching corridor. An old, iron sign proclaimed the first branch as the seventh year dorms. They walked on; the second branching hallway was for the sixth years. Tom and Harry walked all the way to the end, where the hallway ended in four doors. On each of the iron nameplates lay six names.

 _Abraxas Malfoy_  
Augustus Mulciber  
Lenus Nott  
Tom Riddle  
Harry Riddle  
Dantanian Rosier

It appeared that the dorms were separated by alphabetical order. Tom scanned the other nameplates, seeing Avery's name on a further room. Curiosity satisfied, Tom walked into the room, spotting his trunk on the bed right next to an underwater window. Right next to his bed was Harry's. Tom was grateful that their beds were far from the doorway. Tom walked up to his bed, plopping on top of it and almost letting out a groan at how comfortable it was. Next to him, Harry flopped onto his bed as well, throwing his arms over his head.

"This is amazing, Kit!" Harry cheered, rolling over to face Tom. His green eyes were glowing with happiness as well as their normal unearthly light in the dimness of their room.

"Avery is in a different dorm room," Tom had to say, watching as Harry's face fell a tiny bit. "Alphabetical order, you know."

"Really? That's unfair," Harry grumbled, pulling a pillow to his chest.

"It didn't take much to turn your mood around, did it?" Tom gave a goofy grin, motioning to the rest of the room. "We're finally in the Hogwarts of your stories that you've been telling me ever since we met."

"Yes, we are," Harry said, smiling again. The door opened, Malfoy, Nott, Mulciber, and Rosier dragging themselves in. Tom bit back a laugh as he noted how their robes were now askew, far from the pristine image they first presented.

Malfoy stopped in front of his trunk, which was sitting at the foot of the bed next to Harry's closest to the door. He stared at it before looking up at Tom, eyes narrowing. He strode over to stand at the foot of every bed, pulling his wand out of his pocket and readying it in his hand.

"I'll be taking that bed."

Tom raised his eyebrows, sitting up. He lifted his hands to a hidden position of attention, unwilling to try out his wand for the first time in a situation like this. If necessary, he would stick to the magic he'd developed with Harry.

"I'm afraid it's already taken," Tom said. He couldn't look weak now; Malfoy was the obvious leader of the group of friends, no matter how much Nott put on airs. He wasn't going to let himself and Harry look weak now.

Malfoy's brow furrowed. "You don't understand. I'm Abraxas Malfoy."

Tom nodded. "Your point being?"

Abraxas's mouth opened in shock before snapping shut. "I am the heir of House Malfoy. I've been learning magic for longer than you Mudbloods have known you're wizards!" He pointed his wand at Tom, a threatening and ugly look distorting his pale and aristocratic features.

"Apis Ac-"

Tom flung his hands out from behind his legs, focusing on his magic and directing it to weave itself to repel Malfoy. Magic rushed out from Tom's hands, the invisible scent of storming seas upon the air. Malfoy flew into the bed across from Tom's, pushed against the headboard. Tom did not release him yet, however, slipping off the bed and stalking forward. His mind was overtaken with irritation and anger. He and Harry were disadvantaged. They'd never even used their wands before and now it turned out that children from Wizarding families had been learning magic for years? Tom felt a flicker of fear in his heart. They were behind; he could not let them look weak. They would discover that Harry could not see soon. He had to prove them strong.

His fingers curled into a fist, nails biting his fleshy palms. Malfoy gasped, robes pressed flat against his body as Tom squeezed his fists. He could almost feel Malfoy's ribs straining as the force of his magic began to compress them tighter and tighter… A hand gave a gentle touch to his shoulder.

Tom froze.

" _You've made your point."_ The breathy, quiet Parseltongue snapped Tom back to awareness. He looked back at Harry, whose eyes were steely as they looked at Malfoy. Tom's fingers uncurled, Malfoy dropping onto the bed and giving a hoarse cough.

Tom walked back to his bed, disrobing and putting on pyjamas in silence. He could feel the eyes of the others on him as he got ready for bed. Harry sat on Tom's bed as Tom took out a book from his trunk. The last hour before the lights in the room went off was filled with quiet silence, the rustle of pages, and scratching quills.

When the room flooded with darkness, Harry's bed lay empty.

* * *

 

"… _today was a most interesting day. I reunited with my friends on the train, of course. Avery had abominable manners out of sight of his parents. I made the effort to correct him several times throughout the day. Sometimes, I wonder why I even bother being friends with him. I know that his house is aligned with ours politically, but is it necessary for us to be friends? I can't quite keep myself from trying to push him into line._

_On another, perhaps more interesting note, we have two Mudbloods of dubious parentage in our year. In Slytherin. I profess myself surprised at their general sense of culture; they were far from the bumbling, ignorant Mudbloods I'd come to expect. They could be half-bloods; when Avery, the fool, asked directly, one of them turned his words around in a way that was positively Slytherin. They are in our dorm alphabetically; I was hoping that you knew something about them. Their surname is Riddle; they profess to be cousins. They both speak in a peculiar accent that reminds me somewhat of singing which leads me to suspect that they might be foreigners of some sort._

_I wished to ask you about something that one of the Riddles, Tom Riddle, did. Malfoy wanted Riddle's bed (it was one of the ones closest to the wall, across from mine) and demanded it, but before Malfoy could enact retribution, Riddle flung out his hands and levitated Malfoy against the wall. Without a wand. He started…squeezing Malfoy as if his magic was a giant fist, and only stopped once the other had stopped him. I am curious; isn't wandless magic a myth? Yet this is what it appeared to be… I will keep you updated on further developments._

_Send my regards to mother._

_Your loving son,_

_Lenus Nott, heir to House Nott"_

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _AN: Malfoy's jinx: Apis Aculeum, my fanon incantation for the canon Stinging Jinx. Categorized as a dark charm and something that I believe dark pureblood families would use as an introduction to dark magic._   
>  _I want to mention the numbers in my story: there are about 200 students in each year, meaning that the final total of children at Hogwarts is about 1,400. The population of the Wizarding World is about 30,000, meaning that one out of every 2,133 humans in Britain is magical. JKR's world seems to indicate no more than 15,000 magicals at most and leaves much of the background missing. I've decided to up the numbers with artistic license to see where it goes._   
>  _Armando's ridiculous age is actual canon: his birthday is in 1637. He was alive in canon Harry's time as well, at least until 1992…_   
>  _I updated my tumblr blog recently; there is now a tag list and a references + inspiration page in case anyone was curious in seeing where I got my information. I'm sure there are more sources that I have referenced that I have forgotten to bookmark, but even so, the list is pretty comprehensive. I've been meaning to put a lot more information about characterization and specific details on there, so if anyone has a specific question they'd like to ask that others would like to see the answer two, head over there! Thank you, all of you, for your reviews and suggestions. A shoutout of thanks for the anonymous reviewers who I cannot reply to!_


	18. Aether

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter written while listening to MisterWives' Vagabond._

* * *

**Chapter 18**

**September 2, 1938**

Harry was at once irritated and overjoyed that their first day of school was a Friday. They were finally at Hogwarts, the school that he'd heard about all of his life, the school which he had waxed poetic about after first meeting Tom. But instead of being thrust right into the wonders of magical education, they were going to have a dull day filled with introductory "this is what we'll be learning" speeches in every class, followed by a whole weekend to wait after receiving their first taste of the future! On most occasions, Harry welcomed the weekends he spent with Tom crawling around London's streets and roofs, practicing their magic in secluded parks, but he found himself torn.

Harry sighed, turning over in his bed and pulling his silky covers higher over his head. A finger poked him in the ribs.

" _Dove, don't be such a twit. Get up."_

" _Nah. You can go and impress all the teachers and I'll just stay here in this warm, amazing bed. It's roomier when it's empty."_ Harry lifted a hand and made a rude gesture in accompaniment.

" _What do you think the others will do to you if they find you asleep once they get their sleepy arses out of bed? I'm sure you remember the impression we made yesterday."_

" _Fine,"_ Harry said, wriggling out of his covers with a quiet huff. He patted down his hair, feeling that it was again on a journey to defy gravity. He cast his eyes about their dormitory, noting the sedate movements of the magic of the other first-years. They were asleep. Good. He dragged his feet as he walked to his trunk at the foot of the other bed, collapsing on the stone ground in front of it with a muffled whine.

" _What is it now?"_ Tom walked behind Harry and kicked him. Harry leaned his head back against Tom's legs and gave a plaintive hiss.

" _I don't want to look for clothes. There's so much stuff in there and there's not enough magic for me to see it all. Do it for me, please?"_ Harry widened his eyes and tried to look miserable.

Tom hissed in quiet irritation but leaned forward anyway, flipping through the trunk and finding Harry's clothes in a matter of seconds. " _Since we haven't been told what classes we have, I think we should leave our supplies in here."_

" _Works for me,"_ Harry said, scrambling to his feet with a victorious grin and donning his clothes with uncharacteristic speed. His magic swirled around him in excitement as he leaned forward to look into Tom's eyes. " _Tom, can we please go explore? Knowing you, it's so early that nobody is awake but the birds."_

Tom raised an eyebrow before turning and heading for the door. Harry huffed and followed his glowing form, glittery gold threads of magic spinning in amusement. " _Where are we going?"_

They raced through the halls on silent feet, emerging out into the Common Room. It looked eerie to Harry's eyes; the whole room was covered in colours that were far too similar to Harry and Tom's magic for comfort. Deep blue lanced up and down, creating pillars of thick-woven magic that seemed to hold the room together. The space in between was covered in sheets of pale green woven in a pattern so intricate that Harry couldn't decipher where one strand ended or began. The magic would have been a mirror copy to his and Tom's if not for the crystalline purple that danced around the whole room in thin strands, glittering as if struck with the light of a mysterious underground sun.

" _Sage,"_ Tom said at the same second that Harry said, " _Like ours."_ They stared at each other for a second before Harry continued. " _It's dark blue and pale green, like ours is. Except it's purple instead of gold. I don't know about you, but that makes me nervous."_

" _Maybe we're special, like I've been telling you all of these years."_ Tom's magic spun about in smug satisfaction as he tapped Harry on the nose.

Harry rolled his eyes but dismissed it. _"Fine, Kit. We can muse about our fabulous magic later. Right now, I want to explore! Find our classrooms, find the library—we need to visit it—and maybe search out the other Common Rooms."_

" _Now you're all enthusiastic?"_ Tom sighed but took off at a slow lope towards the door. Harry raced off after him on light feet, both of them speeding through countless corridors like silent ghosts. The magic around them was the same colour combination as the Slytherin Common Room until they reached a main hallway. Then, the magic was a rainbow of blue, grey, brown, gold, red, green, and purple, mixed together in a chaotic yet elegant mess. Harry's eyes picked out repeating patterns and order as he raced after Tom, resolving to investigate them later.

Ahead, Tom launched himself onto a staircase that began moving to the side, landing on one foot and throwing Harry a challenging grin. Harry raised his eyebrows as he leapt onto it as well. Running up the staircase was disorienting as it grounded itself against a different landing, the scrape of stone against stone causing the stairs beneath Harry's feet to sing with glorious vibrations. Tom turned on his heel and jumped onto another staircase. Harry followed close behind, closing the distance between them as he sailed over the steps as if he had wings. His magic burst around him in a cheery, exhilarated vortex, spinning threads of gold licking at the rainbow walls of the castle and giving Harry faint impressions of the spells woven into the stone.

Tom's magic was a whirlwind of adrenaline as Harry drew next to him on the narrow staircase. They moved as one onto the next one, magic flowing between them freely as if there were no questions about it belonging to the both of them. Harry's feet bounded across stone, not held back anymore by human ideas of safety. He was magic; he could not be hurt. Harry could see again. Not the same way he saw when he was five, but not inferior at all. There was no danger, now; Harry imagined that if he were to fall at this exact moment, his magic would preserve him and he would walk away unscathed.

The staircase they were on moved away from the landing, stranding them in mid-air. Harry jumped, grabbing onto the railing of the landing and flipping over it with a ringing laugh. Tom landed next to him, breathing shallow. They looked at each other, twin maelstroms, and grinned with some emotion they couldn't name. They had a purpose, in the beginning, but it was lost in the speed and the intoxicating flush of magic letting itself free as it seldom could before. They were magic, in a castle that was magic. They lived in its veins.

Eventually, they slowed, Harry once again taking time to enjoy the sights. They were on the highest floor, he thought, for they had run out of staircases. The corridors were lined in what Tom described to be " _old paintings filled with stuck-up codgers and landscapes alike."_ Magic arched out in delicate strands like marionette strings above the paintings, moving as if being played by an invisible wind. Harry could hear rheumatic wheezing, leaves rustling in strong wind, and quiet snoring as they made their way further into the castle. They made no move to discuss their strange run as they walked past windows that started to warm Harry's skin with early morning sunlight.

Harry mused on the strange colours of the magic in the Common Room, a flash of memory prompting a quiet huff.

" _What is it?"_ Tom asked, not looking away from the paintings on the walls.

Harry tilted his head in thought. " _I can't get the colours of the Common Room out of my head. I think that yesterday there was a tower which had the exact same colour combination. I didn't really pay that much attention to it because it was just one tower out of a rainbow of colours, but if it's made again with magic that looks like ours… that's a little strange, don't you think?"_

" _Why is it strange?"_ Tom said, raising an eyebrow. " _Surely you can't expect for everyone to have completely unique magic? There are only so many colours."_

" _You don't understand! There are so many shades…and they're different in like, texture too, or something. That purple wasn't normal; it was glittery like crystals. Our gold…it's shiny magic."_

Tom burst out laughing. " _Shiny magic! We have the shiniest magic!"_

Harry stared at Tom, narrowing his eyes. Tom looked at Harry and composed himself before nodding for Harry to continue.

" _If magic has an infinite range of colours, textures, and possible combinations…what are the chances that we find magic that has two out of three of our colours? And the third colour is not normal either. What if it means something?"_ Harry motioned towards himself and Tom. " _Remember what I said we used to be? I used to be dark green, with some pale green, and gold. You were dark blue and pale green. Now we're the same! Our magic is identical! It has to mean something."_

Tom's magic curled around him in jagged spirals. His voice was flat. " _After lessons, we're going to the library. Remember what Ollivander said about us? What you told me the hat said after everyone fell asleep?"_

Harry nodded. He could still remember the whispery voice that carried itself out of the door after them, "I will see you later, little Weaver _…_ " and the suspicious evasions of the Sorting Hat. They would figure it out, whatever it was. The secret was dangerous, but wasn't it even more so if they were ignorant of it?

* * *

Tom and Harry sat down next to Avery and Mulciber, across from Rosier, Nott, and Malfoy. They didn't want to run down the stairs now that the sun was out and people were waking up. Tom had no idea what had come over him that early morning, and wasn't sure what to think of it. It had been an amazing experience; he had felt more himself and in control than he had been for ages among the icy storm that was the mingling of his magic and Harry's. But at the same time, he had taken ridiculous risks and performed a series of manoeuvres that he would never have done normally. Feeling invincible like that…it had been a glorious feeling, but dangerous.

"Where were you two this morning?" Avery asked, giving a wide yawn. He rubbed at his eyes before fixing them upon Tom and Harry, looking somewhat wary. It took Tom a moment to remember his lapse of control and attack of Malfoy the night before. "We woke up and you were gone already. How are you not sleepy this early in the morning?"

"It's not early," Nott said, rolling his eyes.

Avery stuck out his tongue. "I saw you drink Pepper-up this morning, you filthy liar."

Malfoy put his hand to his face. "Can you not fight this early in the morning?"

"He said it was early!" Avery said, giving a smug glare at Nott.

Malfoy sighed. He leaned a bit over the table to Mulciber, speaking low. "I'm not sure why I'm friends with those two."

"Not a difficult question," Rosier said, leaning forward toward Tom with a sly glance at Malfoy, grinning. "Our parents are all friends or friends of friends and believed that close proximity at a young age was key to lasting alliances… friendships, if that tickles your fancy more."

Tom looked sideways at Avery, now making rude gestures at Nott under the cover of his hand. "Perhaps they were getting ahead of themselves."

"It wasn't a total failure," Mulciber said, nudging Rosier with his shoulder. "I mean, we're great friends."

Rosier gave a beatific smile, patting Mulciber on the shoulder. "Of course it wasn't a failure."

Mulciber gave Rosier a suspicious look and Harry leaned into Tom, struggling to hide his snickering. Mulciber looked at Harry and then at Tom, mouth dropping open. Tom let more of his smirk show and fought down the urge to outright laugh at Mulciber's outrage.

"You're a terrible friend," Mulciber said to Rosier, sniffing and turning to Avery instead. Rosier caught Tom's eye and winked. How strange, Tom mused. It appeared that while Avery, Nott, and Malfoy were reserved, Rosier and Mulciber had little compunctions about associating with Tom after the previous night's violent encounter. Were they so self-assured in their own power that they didn't think him a danger? Or were they of the opinion that courting his good favor would be conducive to their wellbeing? Tom thought it was the latter, noting the shrewd calculation in Rosier's eyes.

"Oh, Slughorn's coming!" Avery said. "Schedules! I do hope we don't have Transfiguration today."

"Why not?" Harry asked, speaking for the first time. He righted himself and looked up the table at Avery.

Malfoy's face darkened. "Mudbloods."

Nott threw Malfoy an exasperated look. "United Slytherin front? Save this for later." He leaned in toward Tom, speaking in a whisper. "Dumbledore is the leader of all of the Light wizards, or otherwise is really important. He's an enemy of the Dark, which, not coincidentally, is what most of Slytherin is. I've heard that he favours Gryffindor heavily and is quick to accuse a Slytherin."

"Ah," Tom said, nodding. "He's the Transfiguration teacher."

"Yes. Now, you might be Mudbloods, but you're a Slytherin so you'll have to fit in, dark or not. Got it?" Nott's grey eyes were shadowed with ghostly threats that were undercut by the nervous twitch in his lips that spoke of his uncertainty.

Tom let a fake smile slip onto his face. "Of course." The other Slytherins didn't know what to make of him and Harry yet; so far Tom had given them a display of power which assured temporary equality and wariness. It wouldn't last long, though; the real tell would come from their lessons that day. No doubt Nott and Malfoy would be on the lookout for weakness.

The smell of pineapple preceded Slughorn's arrival at their section of the table. His girth combined with his straw blond hair and pale yellow-green eyes gave him the look of someone weak and prone to indulgence, although Tom noted a wicked glint in his eyes as he ran his eyes over Tom and his fellow Slytherins. "Hello, boys. Here are your schedules… you'll be seeing me later today." He gave a wide smile as he handed out the schedules. "I'm sure you'll make Slytherin proud."

"We will, Professor Slughorn," Malfoy assured, flipping his schedule open with a snap. He looked down at the schedule and smirked, sending a look at Avery, who paled.

"No."

"Sorry, Avery," Rosier said, reaching over the table to pat him on the shoulder. "It appears that your worst dreams have come true. Transfiguration first in the morning! However shall you survive?"

Avery stared down at his schedule in horror. Mulciber patted him on the shoulder as well.

The scent of winter grew stronger. Tom looked down to see Harry leaning in, whispering quietly. "What if I can't copy you fast enough? We'll look weak…"

"It's alright," Tom said, concentrating and trying to wrap his magic around Harry in a comforting way. "It doesn't matter. We can put on a show in case that happens."

Harry nodded and continued eating his breakfast in silence. Tom rubbed at the bridge of his nose before proceeding to devour his breakfast as well. He would need all the energy available in order to master the magic they were learning before the others.

* * *

"Welcome, welcome!" Professor Dumbledore said, throwing his hands up. His magic radiated cheer, bright as the sun with its subtle ivory, yellow, and green shades. Next to Harry, Tom wrinkled his nose and brought his sleeve up to cover his face. Harry sighed and stared at the area around Tom as he strengthened the thin net of magic he'd kept wrapped around Tom since they'd arrived at Hogwarts. He directed a few threads of magic to twist closer together, pushing down a smile as Tom's magic calmed and stopped flickering in irritation.

Harry cast his eyes about the room, noting the colours and characteristics of everyone's magic and categorically filing them in his mental library. Their first class of the day was Transfiguration with the Gryffindors, taught by the strange Professor Dumbledore. Harry wasn't sure what to think of Professor Dumbledore. He had been so strange back when he had visited them in the orphanage, with his evasive knowledge of Harry's background. He had recognized him so quickly…and then proceeded to provide the means for their deception. He was on Harry's side, for some reason, but he unsettled Tom, and Harry couldn't put Tom's suspicions away just because Professor Dumbledore seemed well-meaning.

"Welcome, new students! Today, I'll give a brief explanation of the subject of Transfiguration. Transfiguration is an inherently complex and dangerous magic, but it can also be one of the most rewarding magical studies. Transfiguration is the magic of changing one object to another. In later years, you'll be able to transform inanimate objects to animate objects, like so." Professor Dumbledore tapped his wand upon something wooden. His desk? Delicate strands of ivory spiralled out of his wand at high speed, latching onto something rectangular and large in twisting constructions that looked as airy as a feather. For a split second, the outline of the desk was clear and sharp-edged, like Harry was seeing with pristine clarity. Then, the magic folded in on itself, looping in with strange patterns that drew Harry's sight in like magnets. The loops settled and formed the outline of a lion, so defined that Harry could somehow see and comprehend every individual hair in the lion's thick mane. The lion shook its mane and let out a loud growl that was visible as magical ripples.

Professor Dumbledore tapped again on the lion and the loops reversed, the outline of the desk shining for a split second before the ivory magic detached from the wood and dissolved into the air. The classroom was silent for a second before most of the students erupted into raucous applause. "That was amazing," babbled a boy in the first row, and next to Harry, Tom's magic was alight with anticipation, curling over his shoulders like a python poised to strike.

"You will also be able to perform animate to inanimate Transfigurations. Unfortunately," Professor Dumbledore said, his magic curling in amusement, "you have to go through the basics first. Transfiguration consists of several branches. Transformation, Vanishment, Conjuration, and Untransfiguration, each with increasing level of difficulty. This year, we'll be focusing solely on Transformation. Now, while some incantations exist to ease the process, in the beginning we'll focus more on the theory and use the generic Transformation spell _Verto._ This will help all of you build a good base; not to mention, what if you suddenly have a great need of warm socks and you don't know the precise incantation?" Dumbledore's magic shivered in what Harry imagined was a silent chuckle.

Professor Dumbledore waved his wand and a swarm of box-shaped outlines in ivory flew throughout the room and distributed themselves among the students. "Today, you will be transforming a match into a needle, like so." Professor Dumbledore picked up something small from a box that had landed in front of him and tapped it with his wand, incanting _Verto_ with a ringing voice. Harry could see tiny loops of ivory magic dancing in his fingers before settling on a form. "Begin! The notes are on the board and you have a large supply of matches to practice on. I'll be walking around to help all of you. Clear your mind and visualize the result you wish for as you incant your spell."

Harry stared dubiously at the space which he remembered the box landing at before turning to Tom. "Tom…how am I supposed to do this?"

Tom raised his eyebrows before looking in the direction of the box. "Well…let me try first?" He reached forward and placed a match on the table in front of them. Tom aimed his wand at the match and took a deep breath. His magic stilled in concentration before he quietly spoke.

"Verto."

Strands of blue swooped through Tom's wand, outlining the match for a split second before looping in a simple pattern and forming a sharper, pointier outline. Tom's magic rose in shock before he turned to Harry. "It worked," Tom said, voice hushed. "Perfectly."

Harry reached out for the box, scrabbling with his fingers before grabbing a match. He plopped it on the desk in front of himself, keeping one finger next to it to mark its location. Harry aimed his fake wand of linden wood at the match and found himself at a loss at what to visualize. He didn't remember what needles looked like; it had been so long since he had been truly sighted. He cast anyway, drawing out the strong blue magic from his wand with a shove of mental force. For some reason, the blue magic obeyed him without issue, unlike his previous attempts to cast larger spells when he and Tom were still experimenting in the orphanage. Harry mumbled "Verto" almost as an afterthought as he tried to imagine what a needle would look like. Silvery magic threads?

Tom made a choked sound. The match's new form was that of several threads outlined by dark blue. Tom swiped at the magic and it slid off the desk with a quiet thump into what Harry presumed was a rubbish bin. Tom's mouth hovered at Harry's ear. " _That was too close. Too obvious. Silver threads?"_

" _What do you want me to do?"_ Harry hissed. " _I don't know what needles look like."_

"Copy me," Tom said, performing the spell again. Harry glared at the perfect arrangement of simple loops and cast the spell again, this time willing his magic to imitate the arrangement of loops.

"Better. Looks like a needle; it just has the wrong colour. It looks like the colour of the match's wood."

Harry grit his teeth and tried again. At least he had a good memory. He would probably fill it to over-capacity with all of the subtle patterns he would have to memorize. If this was a beginning spell…Harry shuddered to imagine the sheer amount of detail he would have to commit to memory to perform complex Transfigurations like the one that Professor Dumbledore had demonstrated.

"Again. The tip is too thick."

"Verto!"

"Almost."

"Verto!"

Tom had thrown away another almost-perfect-but-not-there-yet needle when Professor Dumbledore stopped in front of Harry. "Harry, my boy, how are you doing?" Harry lifted his eyes, studying the sun-bright face and trying to decipher any facial expression without squinting.

"Doing okay. Almost have it." Harry pointed his wand to the right of his index finger and whispered, "Verto," and tried to direct every thread of the magic according to the mental blueprint he had created for the spell. Part of the issue, Harry thought, was that his control slipped whenever he tried to direct the magic under the needle, since he couldn't see through solid unless the magic was of exceptional strength (like Professor Dumbledore).

Professor Dumbledore hummed, picking up the blue needle and lifting it before his face. "This is excellent work, Harry. Your eye condition doesn't appear to be impacting you much at all. I'm sure that if you tell the others of your condition, they would be happy to help."

"He has me," Tom said, flicking his wand with a quiet "Verto."

"Excellent work, Tom! Continue as you are and you'll have no trouble in this class." Professor Dumbledore said, turning to Harry again. "Your House is your family, Harry. I think I will leave you in Tom's good hands."

Harry watched Professor Dumbledore walk away with raised eyebrows. "Why is he so insistent that I tell them?"

Tom leaned in to whisper into Harry's ear. " _He left it unspoken; better tell your excuse now before someone notices something wrong and guesses the truth. You're doing much better than most of the others so far, so I don't think admitting it would be a weakness. I think…I agree with him."_ Harry snorted at how put-out Tom looked by the announcement.

"I get it. Now, Verto!"

To Harry's regret, Tom pronounced the needle perfect if not for the loop of the needle being closed. He had the feeling that he would make every slight mistake possible before finally succeeding in making a perfect needle.

* * *

When Tom saw their Charms teacher, he raised his eyebrows. Professor Nora Ayers was tall, skinny, with hair that was an unusual strawberry-blond that seemed more strawberry than gold. Tom sat in a desk to the side of the room, Harry settling in next to him. Charms was with the Ravenclaws, who all seemed to be fighting over seats in the first row. Professor Ayers walked to the front of the room and within half a second, the Ravenclaws seemed to have figured out their problems and settled in with all of their school supplies neatly arranged. Tom held back a smirk; he was sure that this kind of excitement was only going to be present for the first day.

"Welcome, class!" Professor Ayers called, lifting her arms. With a flick of her wrist, the scent of strawberry filtered through the smell of ice and a flock of birds burst out of her wand, winging over the heads of the students before disappearing in a burst of feathers arranged like a firework. The explosions were complete with sound and a touch of smoke, only to rain glitter over the students' heads. The Ravenclaws started vibrating in their seats.

"Charms is one of the most rewarding types of magic, and I am not announcing this lightly. Charms is a branch of magic that has multitudinous applications and is constantly being added to and being revised. Today, as an introductory charm, we will be attempting to perform the Levitation spell, Wingardium Leviosa. This is a safe spell to start with so you can all get a taste of the subject before we take a break to learn the magical theory behind charms…" Professor Ayers swished her wand in a particular movement and called, "Wingardium Leviosa." The desk she was standing behind rose into the air. She lifted her wand higher and the desk rose to follow it, as if connected to the wand by some long string.

Tom looked down at the items arranged upon the table in front of him. A feather, a wooden ball, and a brick of some dull metal.

"The movement is swish-and-flick, like so… Begin by trying to lift the feather and then progress onto the heavier objects. It's alright if you don't get it right away; this is a spell that I believe teaches best with trial-and-error…"

Tom glanced at Harry, who looked back at him with lips stretched in an awkward smile. Tom sighed. "I'll go first. Colour?"

"Greyish lavender. This lesson won't go well…"

Tom swished and flicked, and a "Wingardium Leviosa" later, he was directing a bobbing feather. He cast the spell upon the wooden block, which he lifted with little problem. It took a last minute shove of magic to lift the metal block, but altogether it took Tom less than three minutes to learn the spell. Harry stared at him before lifting his wand with a groan.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

The feather's strands were yanked apart, dotting their table like small white hairs. Harry closed his eyes, causing the icy shield of magic around Tom to flicker in warning. Tom watched as Professor Ayers veered to the side, approaching them.

"Harry Riddle, is that right?"

Harry opened his eyes just as Professor Ayers settled in front of their desk. Tom evaluated her face; she was giving a small smile, but it was forced and unnatural. It didn't reach her eyes.

"Yes, Professor," Harry said.

Professor Ayers shifted her hands in obvious discomfort, as if she weren't sure what to do when confronted with someone visually impaired. "I was informed that you have some vision problems? Difficulty focusing? I wanted to offer my help, if you need it; feel free to ask if something is unclear."

"Oh…uh…thank you?" Harry said. Tom was surprised that she had come up and offered. Professor Dumbledore was one thing; he had helped Harry out in the first place. Tom hadn't expected anyone else to care about Harry beside himself. .

Professor Ayers nodded before moving on to the next pair of students. Tom shared a look with Harry, seeing his surprise still visible on his face. It took a few seconds for the magic shield to stabilize around Tom again.

By the end of the class period, Harry was nursing a bruise (he had dropped the metal block on his left hand) and Tom began planning his conquering of the library in search of quick defensive charms. If Charms were so easy to perform, he was sure he could learn a good number of them before they had to return to the dormitory that night.

* * *

The Potions classroom was a study in contrasts. The air was crisp and cool, invigorating, but also carried strange scents of wood, herbs, and blood. The atmosphere was oppressive at the same time as it was pleasant. Professor Slughorn continued his introduction into the art of Potions, cheery orange magic dancing around his sizeable form with fervour. Harry split his attention into two, as usual; he memorized the speech that Slughorn was performing while also studying the magic of the students around him. Potions was with the Hufflepuffs, from what Tom had told him. The pansies, the weak ones, the spineless ones, according to the Slytherins.

Their magic said differently. Harry could tell something of a person's personality from their magic. The more magic he saw and memorized, the more he was beginning to tie certain characteristics of magic to the people who wielded it. He saw something very familiar in the Hufflepuffs, something that he knew very well. Their magic held a sort of stubbornness in the way it moved; they would not be easily moved from their beliefs.

The Ravenclaws, in general, had flighty magic that danced with nary a care. The Slytherins had magic that was cautious and prone to creeping and quick movements. The Gryffindors had magic that seemed to move in powerful waves all at once. It was strange; there were a few outliers, but the Sorting Hat seemed to be quite accurate at sorting people into the houses that they fit best in. Harry knew that he would likely fit best in Ravenclaw, taking into account how his magic danced with unconscious curiosity. Tom was a sure fit for Slytherin.

Harry committed everyone to memory. Now he had almost everyone in his year memorized; he'd have to figure out which names matched up to which magic, but that would be a job for later. He looked at Professor Slughorn, who was still waxing poetic about the virtues of Potions. From what Harry could figure out, while he wove his magic consciously and other witches and wizards wove theirs semi-consciously, Potions was about taking the inherent magic in magical objects and weaving it over time into more complex "spells" than any one witch or wizard would be able to direct their magic into. It sounded, despite the distance required from the potionmaker's own magic, more like what Harry was expected to do.

"Today, we'll start out by making a very simple potion called the Boil Cure potion. It is not very complicated, but I cannot stress enough the importance of taking the cauldron off the fire before adding the porcupine quills." A rope of orange magic split and etched words into the air that stayed instead of fading. "The supply closet is in that direction and the instructions are on the board. Begin!"

Students began standing up and shoving each other in an attempt to reach the supply closet first. Tom stood up as well, whispering to Harry, " _I'll get the supplies."_

Harry nodded, turning his attention back to the board and biting down the rising excitement. Whatever spell Professor Slughorn had done, he had written the words with magic and Harry could see them. Harry's eyes scanned the words, annoyed with how slow his reading was. He'd known the letters for years – Tom had made sure that Harry knew how to write – but all of his life he had been unable to read by himself. His hands made shapes across the rough surface of the table he was sitting at as he matched up the letter he was seeing with the motions he had taught his hands to make. By the time that Tom had settled himself back in his chair, Harry had triumphantly decoded the simple instructions.

" _Tom, I can read the instructions,"_ Harry hissed under his breath as the students around them began to fumble with their knives and cutting boards. Tom's eyes widened and his magic flickered in excitement. " _You can? I'll have to learn that spell…can you-"_

" _Yes, I can imagine."_ Harry would be able to read things on his own if he could figure out how to use that spell to copy text from books and project it into the air.

Tom pulled on his gloves, urging Harry to do the same. Harry dragged his hand across their desk before snagging them and pulling them on. "Measure out the snake fangs and I'll crush them," Harry told Tom with an excited grin. Tom nodded, placing the correct number of snake fangs into the mortar before sliding it over to Harry and handing him the pestle.

Harry began crushing the snake fangs, feeling the slight give as they broke underneath the stone and hearing the slight crackle as they began disintegrate. He might have some problem with nonmagical ingredients, Harry thought, but Potions should be an interesting class that might teach him something about weaving magic.

The hour passed quickly as Tom and Harry stirred and worked on their potion. To Harry's delight, he began seeing the magic being woven in the potion. It moved in simple patterns, precisely the kind that Harry needed to learn before he could replicate the more complex spells they were sure to be learning soon. He had enough trouble with simple Transfiguration and Charms as it was (unlike Tom, but then again Harry was under no delusions about the extent of Tom's genius). Harry committed the patterns to memory, trying to figure out how the exact combination of interlocking patterns produced a curative effect.

The dungeon classroom warmed over time, causing Harry to shudder in disgust while Tom melted in bliss. Harry sent Tom a disgusted look as they finished up their potion. Thin strands of magic, almost insubstantial, started wafting over the surface of their potion. "Pink smoke," Tom said, grinning. "That means we got it right."

"Wonderful!" Professor Slughorn said from behind them, causing Harry to jump in his seat and Tom's magic to freeze in place. "It appears you have a natural talent for Potions, Mr. Riddle and Mr. Riddle."

"Thank you," Tom said, "but I'm sure it was more from your instruction than talent." Harry tried to stop himself from rolling his eyes at Tom's attempt at flattery. Tom had decided that they should ingratiate themselves with Professor Slughorn especially, as he was their Head of House.

"Oh, such modesty!" Professor Slughorn said, orange magic curling in delight. Harry breathed in shock as the curtain of orange magic lifted enough to give him a glimpse at a thick weave of bloody red magic that had been completely hidden earlier, broken apart by thin white threads.

"Anyway, boys, bottle up your potion and place it in the rack on my desk; make sure you've put your names on it." Professor Slughorn leaned in toward Harry, who froze still. "I was doubtful of how well you would do in this class, Mr. Riddle, with your unreliable sight being what it is, but it appears you had little problem. In any case, do not hesitate to ask for help should it be needed."

"Of course, Professor."

Professor Slughorn was close enough that Harry could see his grin reflected in the movements of the magic around his face. He leaned back and ambled off to look at the other students, bright orange magic back in place. Harry swallowed before allowing himself to relax slightly. He lifted his eyes to meet Tom's.

" _It's not just orange. Underneath…hidden…it's red. Like blood. With white threads."_

* * *

"… _I informed them of the status quo today; Tom Riddle in particular appeared to take it under consideration. He did not seem terribly surprised by the information that Dumbledore is the "leader of the Light" nor the fact that I told him that most of Slytherin house is Dark. He has taken my words under advisement so far and hasn't made any overt moves; perhaps he is lying low after the previous evening's events? If so, he hasn't done a very good job of it; I watched both him and his cousin during our classes and he excelled at everything. I know that it is early on in our magical education, but I cannot help but feel irritated that a potential Mudblood has mastered each spell on the first try. I will continue watching him._

_I am of mixed opinion with regards to Harry Riddle. He is quiet and does not speak often and I haven't seen him separated from his cousin once. He appeared to be having significant trouble in Transfiguration and in Charms, although he did well enough in Potions today; however, he was partnered with his cousin Tom, which might have contributed to his success. I have noticed something odd about him; all of the teachers today have spoken privately with him with no little amount of seriousness and pity. Professor Ayers, in particular, looked very uncomfortable. There is something strange about him and the way he looks at people; the few times he looked at me, it was as if he were looking right through me._

_Now that I've finished with my surveillance report for today, I can move onto more entertaining matters. Rosier made such a quip that flew completely over Mulciber's head! It was really quite clever, more so than I am used to hearing from Rosier, him being the quiet one always in our company, and I thought you might enjoy hearing it…"_

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _AN: First of all, I want to thank the anonymous person who submitted such an amazing fanart of Harry to my tumblr! It's so amazing :D_   
>  _On a random note, I've adopted a white python with blue eyes that I named Luscious Lucius Malfoy (Lucy for short). I thought you readers might enjoy that bit of news._   
>  _Apologies for the lateness of this chapter; as a whole, writing it felt like pulling teeth; I spent far too long working out intricacies of magical theory. Quite frankly, I don't even want to consider how much referencing of my notes I will have to do for further chapters in order to preserve consistency. Feel free to point out anything that doesn't add up; I don't reread my whole story too often and someone who marathons it at once might notice something that I have missed in the year I've been writing it._   
>  _The next update is projected to be for the end of May; the whole month as a whole will be dreadfully busy and hectic but I will try to write in the few calm periods. Thank you, all of you, for the reviews and PMs asking about updates; you motivate me to continue this with your continued interest during my writing slumps._


	19. Liminality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...is the quality of ambiguity or disorientation that occurs in the middle stage of rituals, when participants no longer hold their pre-ritual status but have not yet begun the transition to the status they will hold when the ritual is complete."

**Chapter 19**

**September 2, 1938**

Tom lifted his hand as if to run it through his hair. He froze and dropped it, scowling. Sometimes he wished he hadn't insisted on maintaining a perfect image for the Slytherins; it was annoying how many motions he had to abbreviate before he did something stupid like mess up his hair. Harry's had been a lost cause from the start, an incorrigible tangled mess, but Tom could arrange his hair into a neat coif if he so wished. It just left him trapped, unable to vent his irritation with the world. Tom stuck his hands into the pockets of his robes, fingers burrowing into the folds with vicious irritation.

Harry had confronted him after Potions, face alight with excitement and tenuous hope. He was still somewhat pale after his discovery about the secrets lurking beneath Slughorn's exterior appearance, but a flush had risen into Harry's cheeks as he proposed his idea.

" _Kit…you wanted to go to the Library, right? Well, I won't be much help with that right now, so I thought that I could go to dinner instead. I can save you some food so we can knock out two birds with one stone!"_

Tom had protested, at first, something inside him had seemed to shift. Harry had been so earnest and excited…hopeful in a way that Tom hadn't seen him before. They hadn't had much to be hopeful about, before, when Harry had been trapped in darkness and Tom by the vicious and cold hatred of his peers. But now they were in a new place where the other students had no preconceptions and Harry could see.

Tom wasn't sure how to feel about that. Harry could see, now. He was in a world of magic, surrounded by magic; did he even need Tom anymore? Harry could weave magic…Tom feared that Harry would figure out a spell to read and then he would be completely self-sufficient. Harry could copy someone else's magic. Harry wouldn't need him anymore.

Even worse, at Hogwarts… it was Tom who was incapacitated. The magic that had seeped into every nook and cranny in the massive castle burned at his nose and stung his tongue with its intensity; the flavours would collide in his senses until he could feel nothing but chaos turned solid with its weight upon him. Tom couldn't function without the icy shield that Harry maintained around him, without the taste of pine and cold winds numbing his senses.

Tom didn't like feeling helpless. It was one thing when Harry needed help but another thing entirely when Harry was fine and Tom was the one needing assistance to even _function._ And now…Harry wanted to separate and split up. Because Harry didn't need his assistance now. Harry could do things on his own now. Harry knew enough wandless magic to be alright in case of a confrontation; Tom had proved himself that it would be sufficient for now. While intellectually Tom was aware that this was a good thing and was happy for Harry – how could he not be happy that his best friend in the entire world was happy? – at the same time, something deep and dark and snarling within him stirred with an emotion he couldn't quite name.

" _I'm so happy, Kit! It's…it's almost as if the past six years never happened."_

Tom had caved, agreeing to Harry's plan and watching Harry run away on feet of wings, flitting around the corner with confidence that Tom knew Harry had rarely exhibited before. He'd always held back, wary for some shift under his feet, a clumsy passer-by… A few seconds passed, tense and still, where Tom had stood with eyes unseeing as he wrestled with his emotions, until the icy shield that had remained a fixture around Tom's form for the past day unravelled at once and the scents rushed in his nose and choked him from within.

It had taken ten minutes for Tom to regroup, the scent of sage, dandelions, burdock, and thyme assaulting him and causing his nose to go aflame. Tom had found himself sneezing into the shoulder of his robe until he could breathe without fear. As time went on, the taste/scent faded from his immediate attention, and Tom could stand straight.

Tom closed his eyes for a moment, fingers clawing at the inside of his robes. He had been so weak. Out of Harry's immediate proximity for a few seconds and rendered helpless. He opened his eyes and continued forward along the corridor, eyes scanning the hallway for any indicators telling him where the library could be.

Tom ventured up and down staircases, walking familiar and strange corridors, secure in the knowledge that he was safe for now because everyone, all the normal people that lived with senses muted, without the knowledge that Tom suffered for so dearly, could be found in the Great Hall. Where Harry was, eating a no-doubt delicious dinner that Tom found difficult to taste as the scent of ice numbed his tongue.

How odd. Tom didn't think himself one predisposed to self-pity, but circumstances seemed to be conspiring to prove him wrong.

The unmistakeable whiff of old books brushed itself against Tom's awareness, almost lost within the smell of herbs from the castle. Tom turned himself around and walked toward the arch that he had just passed, glancing through it. Down that hall, a huge arch stretched toward the soaring ceiling, framing the delicious glimpse of books located within. Knowledge.

Tom took a few steps forward before he broke into a sprint, tearing down the hallway and feeling his heart turn light. So many books! A frisson of hope welled within his soul as he skidded through the archway and saw the towering, spiralling stacks of ancient books and scrolls and maps and paper and _knowledge_ that could explain the reality he and Harry had been living for the past six years. The ceiling of the massive room stretched far above his head, at least three stories tall. Cerulean and bronze paintings of bird wings and forests and epic battles loomed above his head, exquisite and breath-taking. Ladders and staircases—some straight, some spiralling, and some arranged in some confusing way that screamed magic—leapt around him as if trying to reach the ethereal painting. Stone pillars interrupted the ceiling pattern in a circle, covered in circular bookshelves. On the ground around the pillars a maze of shelves stretched to the far corners of the huge and magnificent library.

Tom breathed in. Breathed out. He took awed steps toward the nearest of the shelves, which, while appearing small compared to the soaring heights of the pillars, stretched far above his head. He reached out and placed his hand on the spine of a book right in front of him. It felt smooth, like the apples that Tom and Harry had managed to steal on occasion to feast upon in the closest dark alley. The library whispered, _come._

* * *

 Harry felt light upon his feet, as if gravity's hold upon him was so tenuous he might leave the ground entirely and never land again. Perhaps part of the lightness was from his sense of unease around Slughorn, but even so, he found that he couldn't contain his joy. The realization came out of nowhere that he could be independent, now. Of course, there were still benefits to sticking together with Tom…but Harry felt a newfound confidence that he would be fine. He wouldn't hide, trembling in fear in a dingy alley waiting for Tom to find him.

Harry was beaming as he strolled into the Great Hall, plopping into a seat next to sunshine-pink Flavian.

"Someone's in a good mood," Flavian said, raising an eyebrow. His magic gave a flicker of curiosity, reminding Harry of an inquisitive puppy tilting his head.

"I realized a few things," Harry said, marking the location of his plate as a wave of jagged magic the colour of chocolate spun in front of him. Harry watched the hand movements of the other Slytherins heaping food upon their plates to get their approximate location, noting that a few of the plates had a delicate crystalline construct perched over them that looked similar to the warming magic that Harry and Tom had discovered so long ago.

Dantanian's chaotic magic—a mess of lavender, peach, and red without visible order such as Harry's—spiked in mild alarm and curiosity. "Where's Riddle?"

"I don't think I've seen you two more than a meter away from each other," Flavian said, pulling his hands apart to visually represent the distance. "Did you fight?"

"Nah," Harry said, digging into the chicken he'd picked up. The earthy flavours were _divine._ "Tom's been eager to investigate the library and it would have been cruel to keep him back from it any longer. I'll bring him dinner later."

"Not the bookish sort?" Flavian asked, grinning. "A man after my own heart."

Lenus turned from his conversation with Abraxas, pale blue and grey magic writhing with repressed emotion. "Avery…"

"Sorry, sorry, mother dearest," Flavian said, hiding behind open palms. "I'll be a good boy and do my homework and I'll read five boring books before bed each night."

Abraxas coughed, choking on whatever he had been drinking. Lenus's magic spun in angry corkscrews, looking almost like little angry snakes, Harry thought. How fitting an image.

"I wash my hands of you," Lenus said with a huff, turning away from Flavian and resuming his conversation with a snorting Abraxas.

Flavian shrugged, unbothered. "Hey, Riddle, may I call you Harry? It's bloody confusing with you having the same surname and to be honest, I can't be bothered with clarifying which of you I'm talking about all the time."

"That's fine," Harry said, biting his lip. Permission was needed to refer to people by their first name? He'd been referring to everyone by first name in his head this whole time. He just knew he would forget a small distinction like that; hopefully Tom wouldn't kill him for it later. "May I call you Flavian?"

Flavian grinned, stretching his arms. "Of course. It would be refreshing to have a friend that I could actually refer to by his real name. Nott over there is right depressing at times."

Harry froze, his fork hovering in the air. Friend? His eyes focused on Flavian's magic, searching for any sign of concealed intentions and dishonesty. Flavian's magic continued its cheerful movements, bright and open, and Harry couldn't find anything amiss. Harry's fork finished its path to his mouth and Harry had to force himself to bite down a smile until he finished chewing.

A friend. For the longest time, Tom had been his only real friend, Alyssa sometimes falling into that category if she had nothing better to do with her time. Flavian was calling him his friend after such a short time? Mere days? Harry could feel his mood elevating to new heights.

"Say, do you want to go and play Wizard's Chess later? Our homework isn't due for days and I could use something fun."

Harry smiled. "Sounds like fun, although you'll have to teach me. Just let me grab some food for Tom first."

Flavian yawned. "Let me help. What does he like to eat?"

"No preferences," Harry said, piling food onto a spare plate at random. Hopefully, the brown magic wouldn't be irritated that he was stealing dinnerware. "His eating habits are random; I've stopped trying to find rhyme and reason a long time ago." Tom's tastes in food varied based upon his surroundings. With his mixed senses of taste and smell, Tom could go from craving sweet foods to abhorring them with little warning. With all the magic that Harry could see in Hogwarts, it was probable that Tom's tastes would go haywire depending upon who was eating at the same time.

"Done?" Flavian stood up, looking over Harry. Harry nodded, reinforcing his hold upon his plate with his magic. He didn't trust himself to carry it without mishaps with the castle being as unpredictable as it was.

Flavian waved a goodbye to the other Slytherins and Harry followed him out of the Great Hall. Harry found himself losing some of his customary wariness despite Tom being out of his sight. There was something about his cheery disposition that put Harry at surprising ease. They made their way through twisting corridors that changed from a rainbow mess of magic to familiar blue and green, traced with crystalline purple that reflected Flavian and Harry's magic.

"Pineapple," Flavian said, a flurry of blue magic opening the wall to the Slytherin Common Room. He flung himself into the nearest armchair, skidding a foot toward the nearest fireplace. Harry raised an eyebrow, pulling an armchair closer to Flavian and hooking a table with his foot, drawing it between the two. He was lucky that the immense concentration of magic in the Slytherin Common Room made discerning the less-magical items an easy exercise.

"I thought you were going to teach me how to play chess, not take an early nap," Harry said, placing Tom's plate on the corner of the table.

"Naps are good for the soul," Flavian muttered, throwing an arm over his face. "I was so excited for Hogwarts but nobody mentioned homework."

"A tactical manoeuvre," Harry said, nodding. "You wouldn't have gone willingly otherwise."

"You got that right. Anyway, Wizard's Chess." Flavian pulled something that glowed with contained magic out of his pocket. He pulled his wand out of his other pocket and tapped the tiny magical box. The magic began spinning out, moving in a way that reminded Harry of what he'd seen in Charms class. The box resettled in Flavian's hand at ten times its original size. Flavian placed it on the table and started flipping open clasps.

"Alright, this is the rook, this is the king, and this is the queen…"

* * *

Tom's anger had long cooled after he spent a few hours in the library. His stomach was gnawing at itself but Tom ignored it; it wasn't as if it was an unfamiliar sensation, with his upbringing being what it was. There were so many books in the library that Tom hadn't known where to start. No matter how interesting _A Thousand Ways to Enchant Your Dinner_ and _Magical History: The Hidden Wonders_ were, he had gone to the library with a strictly defined goal.

There was a conspiracy of some kind, Tom suspected, for ever since their entry into the magical world they had been left with more questions than explanations. He had a feeling that quite a few things would be explained if he could figure out what "Weavers" and "Sensors" were, and why they were to be kept secret. They seemed self-explanatory—Harry could weave magic with his bare hands, while Tom could detect magic with just a taste of the air—but the look that Ollivander had given them had frightened Tom more than he could admit.

The librarian, Mrs. Manier, smelled of leather and kept staring at Tom until he slid out of sight. Why did they hire a librarian that seemed to distrust children so much? Tom made sure to watch for any hints of leather getting stronger; he resolved to stay away from her for the time being.

The categorization of the library baffled Tom. He could smell how overwhelming the library was in terms of magic, but wasn't finding evidence to explain why. One shelf would have books on taming dragons and the one right next to it would be an index of the most useful spells for styling hair. Tom had flitted between the stacks, occasionally venturing into the spiralling staircases around the vast columns that supported the ceiling. He had found loads of books and topics that he was itching to get his hands upon, but nothing seemed to be standing out. Harry told him that the Sorting Hat had mentioned a thousand-year old secret, so he shouldn't be too disappointed.

His eyes examined the Restricted Section, visible from his nook behind a two-story tall bookshelf that he had scaled like a tree (he couldn't think of another way to reach the higher shelves). It was behind a massive gate covered in ornate runes that was no-doubt warded to high heaven to prevent untrustworthy hands. Tom just _knew_ that he had to find a way past that gate, although it could wait for another time.

Tom's stomach grumbled again, causing his handhold on the shelf to weaken for a second. His body tilted back and his hands scrabbled to clutch the shelf again. Tom let his breath out, happy to inhale herb-scented magic. He was going to learn how to fly if nothing else. How pathetic would it be to die from falling from a large height? Tom slowly made his way back down the bookshelf, picking up the stack of books that he'd deemed interested and heading back in the general direction of Mrs. Manier.

Mrs. Manier's eyebrow rose when she saw the tall stack of books Tom was holding, but she didn't question Tom. She tapped her wand on every book in the stack (sixteen) before nodding. "You're free to go. Mr. Riddle, am I correct?"

Tom leaned his head out again from behind the stack of books, nodding. Mrs. Manier was smiling.

"If I didn't remember your Sorting from yesterday, I'd think you a Ravenclaw. Next time you need to reach the higher shelves, I'll show you where we hide the magical ladders." Mrs. Manier smirked. "You're one of the first students in years who's actually tried climbing the bookcases directly, you know."

Tom felt embarrassment flooding him, his ears no doubt turning red. "Thank you, ma'am, noted." Then, he executed a flawless speedy retreat, a liberal amount of magic steadying his books as he whipped around the corner. There was no way that he would be telling Harry about that little detail of his library adventure. Ever.

* * *

 It was evening and Harry and Tom were curled up on the armchair furthest from any of the fireplaces, yet warm under a thick curtain of warming magic. Warming Charms, they were called, Harry reminded himself. In the armchairs next to them the rest of the Slytherins were lounging about, draped lazily over the furniture like the snakes they were so commonly associated with. Flavian was perusing some magazine that he was careful to keep from anyone's sight, Abraxas was engaged in an intense game of Gobstones with Dantanian and Augustus. Lenus was chatting with four other Slytherin boys that Harry didn't yet know. It was a pleasant scene, thought Harry, mind drifting as he absorbed the words Tom had been reading aloud under his breath.

"...had an immense fascination with toadstools. She pioneered a number of potions with a base comprised always of toadstools picked under moonlight and various other ingredients native to her region, an island off the coast of India…"

Harry hummed under his breath, slipping a bit of Parseltongue into it just below human range of hearing. The addition of Parseltongue always seemed to make everything seem a bit more melodic, something that drove Tom a little crazy. He'd ranted for ages about how hissing wasn't melodic in the slightest while Harry had laughed at him and said that magic didn't always make sense.

Tom shot Harry a disapproving look, but continued reading aloud. Earlier in the night, when he'd started reading, Tom had dropped a casual mention of Harry's fluctuating vision that had assuaged any questions before they were issued. Harry had looked examined the magic of everyone in the vicinity and quietly reassured Tom that all seemed well for now. They'd made their stand and now it was unlikely that they would be targeted by their age group, in the very least. A few of the upper years had given Harry and Tom some dark looks, but evidently considered two firsties below their notice.

All seemed well, for now, and Harry was happy. He could forget the sharp curl of anger in Tom's magic that had lanced at him when Harry had mentioned the past six years never happening.

* * *

 His eyebrows raised in surprise. It was too easy, too easy.

He'd been searching for years. So many years following little rumours and investigating clues on the wayside as he made strides to further his ambition. So far, everything had been going perfectly, but Magical Britain had always been problematic for him. It wasn't Dumbledore, he was sure. He'd checked with his contacts and they all reported back that Dumbledore was fixated upon finding the boy as well, spending long hours traversing London and the surrounding countryside for a glimpse of the boy. Something else had been cloaking the boy, masking his location with misdirection and subtle nudges that sent his spells off-kilter without him noticing. But whatever force had been hiding the boy had been rendered impotent, now.

He'd always been aware that at some point, the boy would reach the age of eleven and more likely than not, would be accepted to Hogwarts. While he had been certain in his spellcasting abilities, there were precious few magics he could imagine that would hide the boy from Rowena Ravenclaw's great quill. But the time had come! More likely than not, the boy would be one of the eighty or so first years at Hogwarts. He already had a few promising suspects from his contacts.

He rubbed his chin, one hand fiddling with the end of his braid. He had precious few contacts that had offspring or connections to the other houses, so he wasn't certain yet. But still… Riddle seemed like an interesting surname for a boy whose disappearance was an enigma that drove Grindelwald up the wall for the past half-decade.

* * *

 "… _Hey, guess what, da? I think I've already made a new friend and he's loads better than Lenus. He's kinda quiet and speaks funny, but it really doesn't matter. We played Wizard's Chess today—I had to teach him—and he won three times in a row against me! But I won the fourth game, so I guess it's alright._

_Anyway, you wouldn't believe what happened today at dinner! I could've sworn the venison tasted exactly like Mincy used to make! I'm not joking. Did you sneak Mincy into Hogwarts or something? It's uncanny how much it reminded me of home… speaking of home, I think I forgot to pack…my underwear… would you mind sending some to me in a discreet package? I don't think Lenus would ever let me live it down, that bugger…"_

_Flavian Avery, Your Most Marvelous and Un-Pretentious Son_

_P. S. I miss you guys so much! Could you maybe send a few photos as well…?"_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This chapter is dedicated to the anonymous reviewer "laughingmad," who had written an interesting review back for chapter 13 on FFnet (who reviewed back in June, 2015 – I hope you're still around). It brought a lot of considerations to light that I had neglected to consider, so whoever you are, I thank you for your insights. I remembered it and savoured it for ages so I'm so happy I can pull it out now!
> 
> Also, thank you to fantasmaco for your fanart of Tom Riddle! They drew three different versions of the portrait and they can all be seen on my tumblr so go check out their fantastic fabulous fantabulous fanart! Additionally, thank you again areli-p-rabbit for another astounding fanart! You're spoiling me here ;D
> 
> ~~~~~
> 
> Additional AN: This chapter has been sitting on my computer for two months and I am unsatisfied with it. I couldn't sit on it longer without feeling immense guilt for the long break, so here it is. I've been having difficulty finding inspiration lately, so if any of you are still around and have some HP fics to rec me, I would much appreciate it! Other fandoms are pulling me in and HP has been a steadfast companion, but I haven't read any good content recently and it's difficult to keep it in the forefront of my mind. I have also experienced a significant change in living conditions lately and have completely upended my routine, so I am still getting back into the swing of things.
> 
> Thank you guys for kudos/subscribing/commenting on this; it really means a lot to me. I'm not planning on giving up on this at all, and all of your support that trickles into my inbox has been instrumental in the creation of this story. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on FFnet; faster updates will occur. I go by bleubirdsong there as well.
> 
> If anyone has any advice on editing my chapters, it would be greatly appreciated. I write them novel style, and that doesn't transfer well to Ao3. I've been copy and pasting from FFnet instead...but all of my formatting has been lost, and it would take too long to replace.


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